


Arkanis

by dentigerous, wraithnoir



Series: The Corruption of Ben Solo [3]
Category: Star Wars - All Media Types, Star Wars Episode VII: The Force Awakens (2015)
Genre: Abuse of Authority, Action/Adventure, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Bloodline Compliant, Character Death, Corruptor Hux, Dark Side use of the force, Eventual Armitage Hux/Kylo Ren, F/M, Force boners, Hux Backstory, Lots of backstory, M/M, Mental Control, Mind Games, Past Child Abuse, Slow Burn, Smuggler Ben Solo
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-07-18
Updated: 2016-08-22
Packaged: 2018-07-24 21:02:36
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 6
Words: 90,874
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7523023
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/dentigerous/pseuds/dentigerous, https://archiveofourown.org/users/wraithnoir/pseuds/wraithnoir
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Ben Solo and General Hux have landed on Hux's home planet of Arkanis. The Academy is massive, operational and producing young First Order officers and troopers by the legion. There they meet with the old guard, Colonels and Captains of the Imperial Army who have been turned into aged professors, who knew Lord Vader and fought alongside Grand Admiral Thrawn. It's apparent that while the Alliance was busy raising a new government the First Order was raising armies. </p><p>And then Ben looks to Arrik and asks to see more, asks what happened at Arkanis during his time as child, a cadet, a young officer. Ben Solo wants to understand Arrik Hux, every part of him. Hux knows that Ben will leave soon to train with the Knights of Ren, and he knows that he has to tie the man to him, or lose him to Snoke. </p><p>(Or the AU where Ben doesn't go dark side as a teenager, becomes a smuggler, and Hux corrupts him instead. Part 3.)</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Here it is! The first part of the third six-series installment, Arkanis. This installment gets a lot darker, just all around, so that's a general warning for all of Arkanis. [ The series page is here]() and [the first installment is here.]()
> 
> T/W in the notes before each chapter.

Sage led them through the hangar, past the cadets, and then through the large main dome where the advanced classes took place. He and Hux stood close together, speaking about the goings-on at the academy, the new training ground in the trooper campus, the large live-sim battlefield. Hux was pleased with the way that Sage ran the place; it was efficient, progressive, and steadily growing. Ben felt a pang of paranoia that they were talking about him, then realized it didn’t even matter. Whatever they had to say, he’d likely already covered on board the _Finalizer_.

They passed straight through the first dome and then went out into Arkanis itself. There was a covered walkway, with panes of glass at certain intervals, long sheets that looked like crystal, flecked with silver shards. There were small gardens that terraced up to the dome, and vines and rainflowers dropping down from the roof of the walkway. Arkanis, despite the rain and near-constant cloud cover, managed to produce flora that was thin and sweet smelling.

The mansion wasn’t immediately visible; the walkway turned away from the Academy proper, and then the building loomed out of the fog, a strange mix of the ultra-modern Imperial architecture and older, more formal buildings. The walkway ended with an arch, and there was no more awning, but some kind of small-energy force field that made the rain tap and lightly sizzle above them, allowing the four of them to walk through the gorgeously sculpted garden up to the mansion without getting rained on.

Sage opened the doors for them, and Hux, Ben, and Phasma all entered. The Commandant gestured as they walked in.

“Only a few applications have been updated, otherwise everything is how you last left it, General.”

Hux nodded, pulling off his gloves and looking over at Phasma. “You’re cleared, captain; you may remove your cover.”

As Phasma took off her helmet and ran her hand through her hair, Hux looked back to Sage and nodded. “Thank you for the report, Commandant. I will be over tomorrow morning before the first call to review the cadets.”

Ben stood quietly, both hands wrapped around the strap of his bag. The mansion itself was large, with the sense that little had changed in quite some time. Sage had mentioned that everything was as Hux had left it, but it seemed as if the last person to really make significant changes had been dead for years. He tried to imagine Hux living here, and it was impossible to transpose him into the rooms he could see if he looked down the hallway. He seemed too stiff for a house; he was made like the ship he commanded, metal and straight lines and unforgiving rules of physics. He didn’t bother to be subtle as he took in as many details as he could; there was no reason the general shouldn’t see that he was learning his house. Hux already knew him well enough to know he would explore, touch, and ask questions.

“When’s first call?” he asked, looking between Sage and Hux.

Sage smiled slightly. “Breakfast is at seven. We are currently two hours from sundown, at hour nineteen.”

“Right...how many hours in a rotation on Arkanis?” Ben nodded slowly to himself, resetting his internal clock.

“Twenty six hours. Nights get very cold.”

Hux made a noise like agreement and took off his cloak. He glanced over at Phasma and nodded. “You have your schedule, captain?”

“Yes, sir.”

“We will be over early, Commandant, thank you.” Again, he nodded curtly and then looked over at Sage. It was obvious from just his body language that he was dismissing all the people around him.

“Thank you sir,” Sage said, inclining his head and nodding at Phasma, who saluted smartly. “Mister Solo.” Ben nodded back to him quickly, feeling that these dismissals were quick and the house seemed larger when he thought of it just being Hux and himself.

Without much more pomp, Sage let himself out of the mansion. Phasma waited a moment then looked to Hux for her orders as well..

“In my usual quarters?”

Hux glanced at her, taking off his coat as he walked towards a closet that slid open with a click. “Yes, of course.”

Ben figured that was his cue to speak up. Or maybe he was expected to just crash on whatever couch he could find. Or sleep under a sink in the kitchen. The mansion was remarkably quiet; for the size that it was, and the fact that the master of the house had just returned, he’d have thought there would be droids and attendants around to see to his creature comforts. He knew his mother was always fighting for privacy.

“Where are you sticking me overnight?” he asked, looking from Hux to Phasma. “Is there a room next to the captain’s I can claim?”

Hux turned, frowning slightly at him. “I thought it would be appropriate to give the lady her own wing.”

Ben grinned over at Phasma, then looked back to Hux with the smile still on his face. Phasma smiled slightly,

“My question still stands. Where do I get my beauty rest?” he asked.

“I’ll take you there; you’re in the east wing.”

“I’ll be at breakfast, Arrik,” Phasma said as she turned away, obviously familiar with the mansion. “Order the salted ham.”

Hux made a noise, walking towards the other end of the large foyer, his footsteps echoing. The rain outside made no noise at all, the field effectively blocking the light drizzle.

“Rest well.” He looked over at Ben, eyebrows up. Ben was still looking stunned. He had definitely never heard the captain call her general ‘Arrik’ before. Was there more to their relationship than he’d guessed? He wondered if his jaw had actually dropped a little. Hux went on without a strong reaction to him. “This way.”

Ben didn’t say anything as he walked after Hux into the mansion, taking in the decor and furniture as they went. He didn’t recognize the style of much of it, and didn’t know if that was significant or if he really just didn’t know much about design. It did feel old though, and as though the house was proud of it, not needing modernity to keep it relevant. He realized he should probably be paying attention to the route they were taking as well. He wasn’t supposed to be on Arkanis very long, but he also didn’t want to spend the entire time lost in Arrik Hux’s giant house.

“How often are you here?” he asked, taking another long step to catch up to the other man.

“Once or twice a year. Not often.” He started to ascend the main staircase, already reaching up to undo a few of the fasteners on his jacket. The east wing held the larger portion of the living spaces, with the small west wing being an addition for long term guests.

“So...I’m guessing you don’t really have a hand in a lot of the…” Ben paused as he walked up the stairs with Hux, lost for the right word for the moment. “Decorating?”

Hux shook his head, looking over his shoulder at Ben as they ascended the spiralling staircase and passed the second floor before heading to the third floor. “Most of this is leftover from my parents. When I became provisional commander I made some changes. I didn’t stay here for long.”

“No, I kind of got that feeling. It doesn’t really have your touch to it.” Ben looked over at the general, catching the tail end of something that was almost a smile. “But I don’t know much about what Arkanis looks like from the inside, so this could all be totally normal.”

“All of this pomp is just an Imperial holdover. My father was part of the Clone Wars; there was a pressure to impress the Trade Federation and the Banking Clan.” He turned on the third floor to walk down the grand hallway, its dark wooden floors, minimal art, and glass along the walls, giving the mansion a strange aesthetic of modern and antiquated that somehow made the space seem domestic and almost cozy.

“I do collect things for this place. It’s my house, even if I’m hardly ever around.” He stopped in front of a door and gestured. No pad, no scanner, just a dark wooden door. “This is your suite.”

Ben looked at the doorknob almost distrustfully, then reached out to twist it. When it didn’t electrocute him, he exhaled normally and pushed the door open to walk in.

“Big,” he commented as he looked around. The room was already lit by several lamps; the heavy curtains by the windows were pulled back, but what little light that allowed was weak and dreary. All of the rooms were proving impressive, with their high ceilings and details that spoke to how carefully the house had been built. “Do I have a good view?” He walked over to one of the windows, noting the mechanism by the sill. Peering out, he saw the edge of shutters and figured that the mechanism controlled them from the inside to save someone from reaching out into the storm.

Hux made a noise in answer to Ben’s question that suggested he didn’t, going in behind Ben and flipping a switch next to the large windows.

“The mansion has a rock garden in back, as well as some cultivated greenery,” Hux explained, even though currently they could only see to the edge of the rain shield, light greys and bluestone, rock boxes that had vines and beds curling inside. There were a pair of gardening droids hovering over a patch of flowers that seemed to be swaying in the non-existent breeze. The back garden reflected the inside mansion, an odd mix of organic and finely crafted structures. “On clear days even the far reaches of the Academy can smell the flowers.”

Looking out over it in the sunless day, Ben had feelings that were just as mixed. He thought of the vegetable and herb garden that he and the other padawans learners had cultivated, his frustration with the bean plant that had sent up one green and black striped tendril, then immediately plunged itself back into the soil after two days. Luke had thought it was funny when Ben had grabbed onto the shoot as though it was a bag handle, tugging on it in an attempt to free the growing end. It never budged. He thought of the half-tended garden outside his mother’s window when he was little and they lived on Coruscant for a time, before the new Senate had decided that they wouldn’t keep themselves to the seat of the old Senate. Her little plants had all been just as homeless and shifting as Leia was; they were seeds of plants from Alderaan.

“If I open my window, will I be able to smell them now?” Ben asked, touching the glass lightly. The pane was thick but perfectly clear.

“You might smell the pith-flowers. They’re the violets in bloom.” Hux stepped forward, standing next to him. “Everything can be controlled verbally, if you give the order...”

Ben didn’t look over at the general, but he could see his reflection in the window. The strange lighting made Hux’s face in the glass even paler, but his eyes looked darker as though they were catching the mood of the overcast sky.

“What orders do I get to give? Open the window? Get some actual heat in here? You weren’t kidding about it being colder.” The whole planet felt damp, even in the house, which he guessed had some careful climate controlling to keep the whole thing from getting musty.

Hux sighed, tilting his head up slightly.

“Room, open windows.”

Ben laughed and took half a step back when the window slowly pulled itself into the wall, split in the center. He wondered how much of the house was like this, seeming old but with new conveniences that he guessed were the changes Hux had made to his family’s home.

“Nice! Is it going to know my voice, or will it just insult me when I ask for something?” He grinned over at the general.

“Now that you mention it, perhaps I should I should make some adjustments to the code,” Hux said, and he almost had a smile. He took a step back from the windows, the only barrier between the room and the open air was a pair of small, thin silver bars across the bay. “You should find it easy to make any changes you need.”

The bars caught Ben’s attention, and he reached out the open window to tug on one of them.

“What’re these for?” he asked, relieved a second after he touched them that they weren’t part of an electrified security system. Why hadn’t that occurred to him before wrapping his hand around one? Good survival instincts, Solo, he scolded himself.

“So small children don’t fall out the window,” Hux said mildly, taking a step back and heading for the doorway. “If that’s all?”

Ben turned to watch him walk away. He wanted to ask questions. Were the three of them really the only people in this huge house? How would he find his way back to the main entrance? How did the shower work? Was there a shower? When would he get food?

“Nah, I think I’m good,” he said, stepping back from the chill of the window and putting his hands into his jacket pockets.

The general nodded again, opening the door.

“I’ll see you downstairs for breakfast then.” He raised his eyebrows, watching Ben. “Sleep well.”

Ben realized he didn’t actually know which of the closed doors leading off this main room led to the bedroom. But he smiled at Hux and gave him a lazy salute.

“You too, general. Welcome home, right?” He glanced back out the open window, then to Hux.

Hux hummed quietly and shut the door, heading to his own suite. It was a mild response, despite the fact that he didn’t quite feel as if he could really call this place home. He left Ben to his own devices, heading back into the deeper recesses of the mansion to the master suite. He’d had it completely redone after his father passed, and it bore no resemblance to the private rooms where his parents had lived.

He got changed and took only a moment to look over his recent messages, scanning through his pad. He finalized his schedule, sent it out to Ben and Phasma first, and then to Sage and a few of the officers that he would be speaking to. Tomorrow was the cadet review, and both Hux and the captain were expected to look over the newest troops.

He knew that a few of Phasma’s Elite corps were expected to help teach a few combat lessons, and he made a quick note on Ben’s calendar that he might be interested in seeing these sorts of displays. There was also a small air show being held in the evening, and he sent that along to Ben as well.

The general settled into bed, glad that he got a moment to relax before he had to go through the Academy. It would be a trial, as always; for a long time he’d walked in his father’s shadow. Surpassing him was only a matter of time, and he had spent years making sure that everyone knew he wasn’t his father-- he was more, he was better, he was smarter. Brendol was stamped on this Academy, but Arrik had made it into a fingerprint, had put his own badges and systems in place that elevated him far past his father. It was a reputation he sought to uphold.

Ben wandered his suite of rooms, opening drawers and cabinets as he walked. He tried out some of the commands (the doors locked and unlocked, the water temperature changed to his voice, but nothing in the room provided food, no matter how nicely he asked), showered, then sat on the edge of the bed. It was large and all wood, but not carved in any sort of organic way. The frame looked like wood imitating metal. It was also the largest bed he’d been on in awhile; it made him remember the bed his parents had slept in on Kashyyk, how small he’d felt when he climbed in with them. Exhaling slowly, he let the memory go. It was too early to sleep; his mind was too active.

He walked back to the main room and looked around.

“Hey window. Open up.” He smiled a little when the window started its slow movement after a second, as though it was contemplating whether or not it wanted to obey him. Maybe Hux had imbued the changes he’d made with part of his own personality. Ben walked closer and knelt down, shivering once when the chill air outside made it inside to his damp hair. He forced his hands to lie still on his thighs, breathing slowing to match the count in his head. Meditation had never been a strong suit of his, but he thought he needed it now. He had no idea what tomorrow would be like. Once again he had no place, no clothes, few people he knew, and a pretty vague/ quasi- dangerous plan. He thought of Hux’s slight smile by the window and pushed the image away. He had to look out for himself here; the son of Princess Leia and Han Solo might not be the most welcome of guests on this Centrist planet still living in the remembered glory of the Empire. Arkanis, he knew, was a represented world in the Senate. Just not this part of it. He breathed out and let that go, allowing himself to just be, in the Force. No matter how deeply he went into it, or what part of it he drew on, it was a constant, and right now, he needed that.

Inside it was colder, and rather than the opening walls and vistas he normally saw when he meditated, he felt enclosed, tight in his own skin. Eyes still closed, he turned his head to the side sensing someone’s approach, but there was nothing there. The feeling persisted. He was watched, but he couldn’t see anything. Ben opened his mouth and gasped sharply, loose hands clenching into fists on his thighs, gripping the fabric with fingers that felt like claws suddenly. Control, he wanted control and had none; his mind was slipping away from him and down, where it was impossibly darker and full of a faceless presence. Can’t you control yourself, boy? It was a soundless voice. He bent forward, pressure on him as though his spine would snap. His hands scrambled for purchase on the smooth dark floor. There was no pain, but there was the knowledge of pain, and the space grew smaller and smaller and there was no exit, there was no way out, it would never ever end--

Ben forced his eyes open and pulled himself out of his trance with so much active panic that he knocked himself back onto his ass. He sat there, trying to catch his breath and staring out the open window. There was nothing to see but grey sky, grey clouds. He shuddered and raised his hand, using the Force to close the window; he didn’t think he could actually speak.

Getting up, he walked back to the bedroom. His legs felt shaky and he was relieved to crawl into the large bed and under the layers of blankets. He thought of his nightmares as a child (they still happened, but it had been different then, even more terrifying) and recognized this feeling suddenly, the flavor of part of his fear. Part of it wasn’t actually his. Whatever he’d managed to tap into with his trance, he knew that fear from feeling it before, though more mature and fighting for more control. He pulled the covers over his head as he had when he was little (“Is Mama back yet?” “No, Master Ben, the princess’ trip has regrettably been extended for a few more days? Did you have a nightmare?”).

Arrik Hux had been terrified in this house. Had been in pain, had tried to hide, had felt that he was trapped forever in a prison his father had been warden of. He’d felt it when the general had tried to withstand Snoke’s pressure, and he’d felt it in that trance state. He felt winded and exhausted, and at the moment he was on the brink of sleep, but he was terrified to do so. It didn’t matter. It never mattered. Sleep pulled him down and it was another darkness he couldn't fight.

Morning came quickly, and for a few hours, the new sun dried up the clouds, shining down on the Academy. Hux, who knew these patterns, was outside, doing some calisthenics and stretches out in the morning air, looking out over the expansive gardens. His mother had loved them; the only parts that remained of her influence were the flowers, the seeds and bulbs holdovers from her attentions.

After his small ritual, he took a shower, changed into a uniform and then went downstairs to the large dining area. It would be set up for a large, formal dinner later, but now there was just one small table and a few platters of food laid out for the three inhabitants of the home. Phasma was already sitting and had not waited for the master of the house, obviously fresh from her own morning workout. Hux made a noise that could have passed for a morning greeting as he sat down, loading his plate.

“Have you seen Solo?”

Ben Solo had not gotten out of bed yet. He hadn’t even woken up yet. The house remained dark, even when the sun rose, and the night before had taken him past regular exhaustion. Without anything to alert him to the fact that it was morning, he continued to sleep, not knowing that his host and the captain were sitting down to breakfast without him.

Phasma shook her head, already reviewing her datapad, sipping her large mug of caf. Hux smirked slightly, glancing over at her. “Let’s wake the man up.”

Hux took his own pad out, and with no small amount of satisfaction, activated the alarm clock in Ben’s bedroom. Phasma glanced over, seeing what he was doing and shook her head.

In the east wing, Ben woke up to the raucous alarm with a half-shout, reflexively throwing the offending machine across the room with a gesture, where it crashed into the wall before falling to the floor. He sat up in the huge bed, breathing fast as he looked around. He puffed out his cheeks when he saw the destroyed tech on the floor by the opposite wall. He rubbed his eyes with the heels of his hands, moaning to himself.

“I don’t even remember setting that kriffing thing last night,” he muttered as he got out of bed. He washed his face, staring at himself in the mirror for a minute. He looked...terrible, as though he hadn’t slept at all. The skin under his eyes was dark and his mouth had the slightly pinched look of someone who wanted nothing more than to go back to sleep. He rolled his eyes at himself, watching his reflection roll them right back at him.

Ben struggled into his jacket as he put his boots on. He had no idea what time it was now, or if he’d missed whatever he had promised to attend this morning. Had he made any promises? He headed down the stairs two at a time (relieved that he’d found them), then made his way toward the sound of voices.

Walking into the dining room, he was again struck by the size and grandeur of the place. He’d expected a squat, concrete building, and it was a constant surprise to him that Hux had grown up here. He looked away from the high ceiling and focused on the table where Hux and Phasma were already well into their meal. Done with it, maybe? There was an empty place, which he assumed was for him.

“Morning,” he said as he walked over, pulling the chair out to sit down. “No, no, please, don’t wait on me.”

Hux made a noise, eyebrows up as he looked over the man.

“Weren’t planning to.” He nodded at the spread, shifting slightly. “Dig in, we’re leaving in ten. Caf’s in the kitchen.”

Ben pushed his chair out, grabbing some sort of baked thing from one of the plates as he did.

“Ten, caf, kitchen, got it,” he muttered, shoving the bread into his mouth as he looked around, then headed for the closest open door.

The caf was easier to find than he’d worried, and he walked back with the largest cup of it he could find in one of the cupboards. To be honest, it was closer to a bowl than a mug. He took a long sip of the hot beverage before he set it down. It wasn’t the best he’d had, but it didn’t taste like military-grade sludge either. The food he’d taken to the kitchen with him was gone, and he reached for another one.

“So, who do I get to shadow today?” he asked around a mouthful of bread.

Hux took a sip of his caf. “Phasma and I are both planning on visiting the troopers today. If you’d like to tag along with her for the rest of the day; the trooper training facilities are actually much larger than the officers’ school, and she'll be overseeing some specific training exercises.”

“Mm,” Phasma looked up, finishing her toast. “Live-simulation droid training tech.”

“You need a catchier name,” Hux muttered, swiping notifications off his screen.

“Sounds like a game of ‘shoot the droid.’ Just call it that.” Ben swallowed the last bite of his second piece of bread and picked up his mug. “That’s catchy.”

“Maybe not,” Phasma said, smiling a little. “You’re welcome to tag along. If you ask nice, I’ll even put you in a sim.”

Ben laughed easily as he lowered his cup. With his face washed and some food in his belly, he felt a little more like himself. The house was better when people were talking in it, when steam rose from caf cups, when a room was brightly lit.

“You say that and I’m not exactly certain which side I’ll be on, the trainees’ team or the droids’…” He reached for a piece of fruit, not to eat now, but to tuck into his jacket pocket for later.

“Depends on how you behave throughout the day,” she said, smirking over at Ben. Ben laughed loudly, though he winced a little when the sound echoed. Who built a dining room with that much echo?

“I still don’t know what side that puts me on!” he insisted, reaching over to punch her arm.

Hux interjected, almost smiling, his eyes crinkling at the corners. “There will be an air show tonight. The cadet pilot specialists and troopers with TIE certifications will be showing off. Seems like something you’d be interested in.”

“Yeah? That is something I’d be keen to see.” Ben looked genuinely pleased at that prospect. “We’re talking real show-offy maneuvers, huh? Is there anybody here who’d take me up and show me some really unique stuff?”

“What kind of stuff are you looking to see, Solo?” Phasma smirked, leaning forwards.

“I don’t know! I want to see some hot shot flying; all the teams on the _Finalizer_ keep it so professional. And I barely got time on my own up there. Cadets ought to have a little more freedom, yeah?” Ben grinned and picked up his mug again.

Hux shook his head. “The _Finalizer_ is a military vessel that operates and friendly and non-friendly airspace. The pilots don’t get a chance to ‘show off’ because they’re busy preparing for enemy engagement. ”

Phasma shifted, grabbing a sweet pastry that she would not have indulged in if she weren’t in Hux’s home. “There are specific show moves that pilots learn. Being part of the commencement air show is a high honor among cadets and pilots.”

“I bet. Who doesn’t like a flyboy, right?” Ben finished his caf, sitting back. “Sure, I definitely want to catch that air show. I’m yours to command, captain. Just point me in the right directions today.”

Hux nodded and Phasma finished her pastry, licking her fingers as she stood up. “I need to be in uniform. The general and I will be leaving soon.”

Ben watched her stand up, smiling a little. “You even wear that when you’re here? Nothing more comfortable?”

“It’s a symbol of status,” Hux said, tilting his head up. “There are only two other captains among the troopers, one on the _Indomitable_ and the second on the training base near Barthoum. I’d be more concerned if she didn’t wear it.”

“So no one’s ever answered me. The chrome armor. Is that a captain thing, or is that just you, Phasma?” Ben asked as he turned his head to watch Phasma walk toward the door.

Hux sat with his eyebrows up as he finished his caf, watching Phasma.

“Just me,” she said, walking towards her wing

Ben looked back to Hux, frowning a little. “Why just her? I don’t understand. Did she earn it? Was it a gift?”

Hux shrugged. “She’s the best.”

“I don’t doubt that.” Ben sat up. “You want some more caf before we head out?”

“If you’re up,” Arrik muttered, holding up his cup. “Did you sleep well?”

Ben pushed his chair back, grabbing Hux’s cup on the way around the table to the kitchen.

“Well, I...yeah, yeah, I slept fine. I needed all those blankets though. How about you?” He walked into the kitchen, pouring the remainder of the coffee into their two cups before heading back out into the dining room. “It’s got to be weird, being planetside. It’s got to be hard...sleeping here. I mean...not on a ship.”

“I slept fine,” Hux said, taking his caf and wincing slightly. “It’s just another berth.”

“Nah, sleeping on a ship is different, Completely different.” Ben walked back to his chair and sat down. “The planet moves differently. Or doesn’t?”

“Of course it does,” Hux agreed. “But I don’t let it bother me.”

“Judging by the size of my suite, your’s must be massive.” Ben rubbed his eyes, still waking up. The caf was helping but the yawns kept coming through.

“It is, I had the rooms redone after my parents passed,” Hux said absently, standing up. “They’re more to my tastes than this ancient architectural disaster.”

Ben watched him stand, making no move to rise yet. He did, however, take a finishing gulp of caf, leaving just the dregs in the mug.

“Well, I’m not going to lie, this house isn’t what I pictured you living in.” He couldn’t quite say what he meant. That Arrik was sharper than these lines, that he was more focused than the art pieces on the walls. He looked around and his eyes caught on a darker corner of the large dining room. One of the lights must have just been out, but the existence of the pocket of darkness reminded him suddenly of his attempted meditation the night before. He shivered and looked up at Hux again. “Do you like it?”

“Here? No.” Hux shook his head, taking another step back and peeking down the hallway towards the east wing.

“Then why do you stay?” Ben asked curiously, mug held in both hands as he watched the general.

Looking around again, Hux shrugged. “Obviously I haven’t. I tolerate this old place because the Academy is here and it’s expected.” The general walked over to Ben, standing very close to him and looking down. “What did you picture?”

Ben’s grin was his eternal mask and he donned it now. It was hard for a moment to look into Hux’s blue eyes (or were they green in this light?) and feel that clawing panic in the back of his throat, to know that next puzzle piece hidden inside that uniform. His young fear, the pain on his skin, that moment his life flickered out. These were all sensations he would never forget and could never tell the general that he’d experienced.

“One of those old Sith underground torture rooms, but maybe with some nice lush carpeting. And Gamorrean snack crackers, for a little bit of luxury. You are a general, after all.” He grinned and finished the last bit of his coffee before setting the empty mug down on the table with a solid noise. “Am I dressed okay for this special event?”

Hux took a deep breath, tilting his head as he looked over Ben slowly.

“I suppose it’ll do,” he said, picking up a flaky pastry and taking a small bite.

Phasma walked into the dining area, her helmet under her arm, gun already holstered by her thigh and knocking against her leg as she moved.

“Captain,” Hux turned towards her, smiling slightly for a second. Phasma inclined her head and Hux glanced at Ben before heading to the entrance of the mansion. “We have a full day. Can’t keep the soldiers waiting.”

Ben hopped up, nimbly stepping around the chair leg that had been knocked when he stood up. He paused for an extra second, then he reached to grab the last pastry from the plate and followed after the general.

“Looking good, Captain. But then, you know that,” he said as they caught up. He reached over and polished an imaginary smudge on her chrome bracer. He shifted his bag to sit against his back, eating the pastry as they walked out of the mansion. The day was grey, with an angry sky that promised rain within the next thirty minutes. He looked toward the dark concrete blocks that made up the academy; it was so close to the Hux family home. He couldn’t imagine growing up with that view, grey on grey on grey, sky and edifice and uniform.

Phasma made a noise, brushing Ben’s hand away from her arm as she followed Hux. She kept her helmet under her arm as she walked out of the mansion. There was no complement or officer to escort them, and Hux went through the front gardens confidently. Above them the rain had started, and the light drizzle sputtered as it hit the force field above the gardens.

They got under the walkway and Hux turned slightly, speaking over his shoulder. “We’ll head over to the stormtrooper training grounds first. I believe that the Elect are teaching a special hand to hand session.” Hux had a way of talking that when he said ‘I believe’ he meant ‘I know’.

Ben nodded, walking a step behind the two officers. He was more excited than he let on to see how the cadets worked, how they trained, how they fought. He wasn’t sure how involved he’d be in all of the events, but he was very sure that if he had the chance to fight or fly, he’d take it.

“So I’ll head off with Phasma. As long as you won’t miss me too much, general.” He looked up to watch the rain evaporating off the force field above their heads.

“I’m coming along. The best of the troopers will be coming aboard the _Finalizer_ , so I’d like to see them perform.”

“I didn’t know you took on baby stormtroopers. I figured your ship had a crew that was already battle seasoned and carefully hand selected,” Ben said as they got closer to one of the lower buildings. “Or is this sort of a ‘fight to the death’ audition and you take the best and most worthy survivors onboard?”

“We encourage healthy competition,” Phasma said, looking over at Ben. “But we don’t expect troopers to kill each other for a place on the _Finalizer_.”

“Although few would hesitate to go that far.”

“That only happened once, general, and we’ve taken precautions to make sure it doesn’t happen again.”

Hux shrugged, turning around a corner of the Academy, going towards the troopers’ barracks and the large training center that looked more like a massive warehouse than a technological battleground. Ben’s eyebrows had already risen at Phasma’s comment (it was so hard for him to tell when she was kidding), and it was the same expression he wore as they got closer to the compound. It was low but much larger than he’d expected, just spreading out over the grounds as they got closer. He’d only seen the campus as they’d approached the house from the other side, and now it seemed like it went on forever. This wasn’t going to be some small demonstration, he was realizing.

“Who do I have to fight for my place, huh?” he asked, needing to break the silence as it fell around them.

“Nobody here,” Hux said over his shoulder, eyebrows up. “Your fights come later.”

“That sounds promising.” Ben chuckled, holding onto his bag’s strap with both hands as they got to the huge double doors. “Give me a couple seconds warning before those start up.”

“I’m sure you’ll do fine,” Phasma said, and her tone was not in the least bit assuring as she took the lead ahead of Hux as he held the doors open for her and Ben. The low base station where they were walking was much more utilitarian than the cadets’ academy. Phasma was confident as she walked through, a few stormtroopers stopping to salute her as she walked past.

She stopped at another set of double doors, going through to a large training area, with stadium seating for at least five hundred troopers built into three of the sides, creating a massive viewing chamber for the exhibitions that were going to take place. The seats weren’t filled, and stormtroopers were starting to slowly trickle in.

Phasma was already walking towards the center of the arena, meeting with a few of the other troopers from the _Finalizer_ that were stretching and checking their weapons near the sparring mats. Hux made a noise, putting a hand on Ben’s elbow and pulling him to a small bench right on the edge of the mats.

“These are Phasma’s Elect,” Hux explained, gesturing at the the four other troopers that were stretching. One was shadowboxing, and another went over to speak to Phasma. Hux sat, putting his pad on his lap and swiping up on the screen. The small holoscreen activated, and the five troopers were presented in their order. Hux made a pleased noise and turned it towards Ben.

“There are six more on board the _Finalizer_ , but here are the specs for Phasma and these are a few of the troopers she’s selected for her elite force. HF-4452, HF-4095, MM-0116 and YG-6111.”

Ben frowned as he looked over the screen. There was a picture for each of the stormtroopers, with the numbers Hux had listed off to the right. There was no other name listed, just stats. Some of them he could figure out, but some meant nothing to him. They were just rows of numbers.

“Do the letters in their designations stand for their initials?” he asked. He took the pad out of Hux’s hand and swiped through the various screens about each of the Elect. He glanced up to watch Phasma standing with her group, trying to identify each of the soldiers.

Hux frowned, shaking his head. “No, they have designations.”

“Right, I get that. The numbering system keeps track of everything in the computer. But how do you pick the designations? Initials followed by regiment? Class?” Ben looked back down to the screen. “Those numbers have got to be a mouthful to use.”

“They have their own nicknames for each other, I’m sure,” Hux said, swiping to get the full specs on HF-4452. “But they get assigned unit designations. These troopers comprise a rather unique force on the _Finalizer_ , moreso than any other soldier of their station.”

“Are you telling me...they don’t have real names? As in, you take their names away when they join up and they’re supposed to just be happy as numbers for the rest of their lives?” Ben frowned and shook his head.

“They’re conscripted soldiers, Ben,” Hux said, glancing over at him, eyebrows up. “They learn that the whole is greater than the individual, that unity and uniformity create strength.”

“Being part of a whole doesn’t mean losing your own identity. You have a name. Why shouldn’t they?” Ben’s frown deepened as he looked over to meet Hux’s eyes. It terrified him a little, the idea of losing himself completely in something bigger.

“I almost didn’t. My mother had to step in.” Hux looked up at the stands, the troopers filing in. Most in full armor with only a few keeping their helmets under their arms. Ben didn’t even glance at the filling stands. Hux’s casual comment had spoken volumes. No one spoke that casually when they were joking. It was the casual tone of something from the distant past. The son of a man who couldn’t be bothered to give his son a name.

“They are assigned unit designations. When they are on duty, they carry that as their only name, their sole purpose. They can call themselves whatever they’d like, but they will be known as their designations for the duration of their careers within the First Order,” Hux continued quietly, looking over at Ben again. Ben licked his lips and nodded, then looked back to the room. The stands were full of white now, lines of stormtroopers flanking the walls in neat rows. He hadn’t known they’d all show up like this, already armored and faceless.

“Where do they all come from? Are all of these people recruited from Outer Rim planets? Unknown Region planets?” He heard the slight hush in his voice.

“We have troopers from all over the galaxy.” Hux looked up again, and the Elect and Phasma were standing to one side, speaking together. “A lot of them are volunteers from systems under First Order control. Many are conscripts. We have a decent number of stormtroopers from the Mid Rim, those who felt their lives had been better under the Empire’s rule.”

“Those aren’t cadets. These younger trainees...they wouldn’t remember the Empire. They wouldn’t have been alive when the Empire was in power.” But then again, he hadn’t been alive. He didn’t know how old Hux was, but he assumed they were close enough in age that he hadn’t known the actual Empire either. “How could they even guess what their lives would have been like? How would they know they wanted that?”

“Stories travel fast, even across this galaxy,” Hux muttered, tilting his head up. He sat back as Phasma put on her helmet, walking into the center of the sparring mat. Around them the troopers hushed, and the armor clicked together as it rustled, the stormtroopers sitting up to watch the captain.

When she spoke the comm in her helmet let her voice go through the speakers in the room, addressing the four hundred or so troopers in the stands.

“Congratulations, trainees.” The room was silent, and her voice echoed in the still room. “You are the best troopers in your divisions. As such you have the opportunity to earn a place on the _Finalizer_ , among the best stormtroopers and officers in the First Order-”

A cheer rang out among the troopers, and the Elect, still uncovered, smirked at one another. Hux waited, not even glancing over at Phasma as she raised her hand. The stormtroopers went quiet immediately.

“We will provide an exhibition of the abilities of our Elect. Extensive tests will determine the best of you over the next two weeks. Today the Elect will show you what we expect of all elite troopers.” Phasma took a step back, gesturing over at the elect, and HF-4095 and YG-6111 stepped forwards. “First, the modified the Prirnaa Style from the Bengu systems.”

Behind the stormtroopers, on the large screen above the entrance, the two combatants were shown in a real time vid. They began to fight, staying low to the ground, and the moves froze on the screen, identifying techniques and stances, descriptions flashing beside their forms as they fought slowly.

Phasma walked to stand beside Hux, near the bench. After the two Elect went through the basic forms of the Prirnaa, they began to move faster, focusing on kicks and open-handed hits. Ben watched the screen closely; he’d never heard of this particular style. He was drawn to the speed of the front kicks, even with their lowered centers of gravity. His own kicks tended to be higher, and he favored side kicks that gave him momentum to turn. He tried to imagine some of the movements incorporated into lightsaber techniques, how he could increase his speed using some of their extensions. Without realizing it, he leaned forward; he was no longer watching the screen. He was watching the fighters on the mat.

The moves became more complex, the kicks coming in quick succession, followed by jumps and spins that still followed the Prirnaa style almost exactly. It was hard to follow when the blows connected, but the smack of the hands and feet hitting armor were unmistakable.

“As you can see, the style focuses on giving yourself every opportunity to attack. It is low to allow for defensive positions while keeping you light, allowing for easy movement.” Phasma’s voice didn’t echo. The watching troopers in the stands had picked favorites, softly making noises and responding to hits. “The Elect will now demonstrate the modified Prirnaa.”

It happened in a second, the two troopers suddenly became more vicious, attacking with knees and elbows, fighting to get behind each other. The open handed hits remained, and the kicks continued to come in fast and hard.

It wasn’t a beautiful style, but it was efficient and fast. Ben observed the strike zones, the way it was a style meant to disable. Much of the defense depended on the posture; keeping low between blows made a more difficult target for an opponent. It also increased mobility. He didn’t know how well that would suit someone of his height, but he was very intrigued by the speed of the kicks. The two troopers were evenly matched, and he could recognize Phasma’s style in both of them. He also saw some of her weaknesses, even in these elite fighters. He itched to try himself against them then and he actually sat up straighter as though in anticipation of a match.

One of the fighters jumped and slammed her hand against the other’s jaw, his head snapping back and shoulders turning. HF-4095 was driven to his knees awkwardly, chin tilted up, eyelids fluttering as he recovered from the hit. YG-6111 took a step forward and offered the other trooper her hand, pulling him up.

Phasma gestured and the other two stormtroopers stepped forward.

“Another form that we have adapted comes from the homeworld of MM-0116. The Oahtahna style of the Boam Ryse Monks.” The two troopers came forward. MM-0116 raised her hand, and she was a slight, oval-faced woman with almond-dark eyes and pale skin. She seemed too sharply beautiful for the First Order, and even standing with her hand raised casually, she looked strong and confident, smirking at the crowds.

Beside her HF-4452 had his hands on his hips, and he was looking at his unit mate with an expression that seemed resigned and amused at the same time. Phasma gestured, and the two approached each other, bowed, and then settled into a stance.

Hux shifted, crossing his legs, setting his pad against his knee, and leaning forward slightly to watch the two troopers. Ben felt the general move beside him and looked over. He was surprised by Hux’s sudden interest in the match.

The two fighters engaged, and the hits were hard and fast, hands held high and loose. The sound pulled Ben’s attention back to the center of the hall. There were only occasional kicks, and again, the fight followed the same formula as the last exhibition, starting with the basic forms and moves, slow easy blocks and exaggerated kicks. Hux continued to watch the troopers intently, and he focused on MM, who was obviously the better of the two.

Ben watched the fight; this form was as smooth as the other had been sharp and vision. The slightly shorter of the troopers engaged with an almost playful aggression, but it didn’t make her any less deadly. The smuggler wanted to see her in a real fight, where her punches weren’t pulled. It was obvious to him that these weren’t exhibition moves. They weren’t something practiced over and over with no intention of ever taking them into a real fight. These were battle moves, if the First Order ever took these stormtroopers out to play.

The punches and kicks became faster and more vicious, and the combinations and parries became hard to follow. Behind them, on a massive screen the moves were being replayed in slow motion, and even on Hux’s pad it was obvious that there were three of these going on at once on the screens. As the two combatants engaged each other some of the blocks turned into tugs and turns, and they combined kicks with grappling maneuvers.

A few times messages came across Hux’s screen, but he ignored them, keeping his eyes fixed on the troopers, following MM’s movements with a complete focus. He was leaning forward still, not looking away at all. After a particularly impressive volley of kicks, Ben looked over at Hux to see his reaction. He didn’t expect that level of intensity on the other man’s face. He looked back to the mat, where MM had thrown her opponent. There had to be something between the two, and he figured that wasn’t so strange. She was attractive, and just because there was likely some kind of rule against fraternization, it’s not like the general didn’t bend the rules to suit. There was a spike of something in his stomach. He wasn’t sure what the feeling was, but he unconsciously slid slightly to his right, slightly closer to Hux. He glanced down at the statistics scrolling on the general’s datapad; it wasn’t hard to tell himself he’d moved so he could read them more easily.

Hux didn’t even glance down, and he continued to watch MM and HF fight. Suddenly MM got under the other trooper, knocking his leg back with a precision that would have broken his knee if she had missed by even an inch. She used her lower center of gravity to elbow his stomach, which seemed to wind HF even through the armor. MM spun on her toes and threw HF over her shoulder, and the other trooper hit the mat with a loud smack. MM stood, looked over at Phasma, who nodded, and then glanced over at the general.

Hux just barely inclined his head, and that was all the response MM got as she leaned down to help the downed stormtrooper to his feet. Ben saw the nod, almost felt it, and it seemed like a huge gesture from the stoic man beside him. His eyebrows drew down for a moment, then he took a deep breath and tried to ignore that slight jealousy that had flared up again.

“As you can guess,” Phasma explained, the troopers quieting again, small tinny beeps and whirrs occurring throughout the compound as the troopers replayed the moves and zoomed in on stances and forms as she spoke. “The Oahtahna fighting method is a very complete, expansive practice, comprising of many individual styles and stances that can combine in effective, lethal ways.”

Hux shifted slightly, looking down at his pad as Phasma continued to explain the style. MM-0116 stood on the mat, demonstrating the form differences. This continued for another ten minutes or so.

“These are just some of the techniques mastered by MM-0116. She graduated from Arkanis Trooper Academy eight years ago and has continued to expand her knowledge through intense sim and real-time training on the _Finalizer_ and a personal drive to make herself more useful to the First Order.” A pause and the entire room was silent. “She should be held up as an example to you trainees.”

Phasma looked around, turning slowly to face each of the three sides. The trainees were intent as she issued the challenge. “If any one of you can land a solid blow on any critical point, you will be put onto the shortlist for an assignment on board the _Finalizer_.” The murmur that shivered through the room was excitement and washed over Ben as extreme desire. It was a challenge and one that appealed to every trainee in this hall.

Hux sat back and MM-0116 continued to stretch, looking over the recruits with her dark eyes narrowed, as if she had already fought them all and found each trooper wanting.

“I would advise you all to evaluate your own skills and only attempt to step onto the mat if you truly believe you have some immediate talent. I do not indulge troopers who waste my time.” The room became silent again, and she paused, turning slightly before speaking again. “There will be other challenges presented at each of the speciality training centers. I recommend that you demonstrate your prowess only where you have a high degree of competency.”

The general made a noise that was almost a laugh, and Phasma pointed at one section of troopers. “You all can start forming a line.”

There was a slight hesitation, but in the section that Phasma had pointed out, a group of about one hundred trainees, slightly less than half, stepped forward, creating a neat line up the steps of the seats.

Hux raised his eyebrows, looking over at Ben briefly. “More than last year,” he muttered, looking back down at his pad. “I’m don’t know how much of this I’ll be able to sit through.”

“Because of your busy schedule or because you think you’ll get bored watching her pound each one of them into the ground?” Ben asked, looking over the line. “I was just going to say that I don’t remember seeing her on the ship...but I could have seen her a hundred times and just never known. Do they really never take those helmets off? That’s got to be a weird way to fight.”  
He sat back slightly as he watched MM-0116 beat trainee after trainee. Some of them managed to initially hold their ground, but she was an expert at finding weakness and immediately exploiting it. It was impossible not to be impressed by her speed and economy of movement. There was nothing she did that did not have an exact purpose. Her fighting style did not try to be beautiful. All it needed to do was win her each match, and it was doing an excellent job of that.

As the matches continued, many of them extremely short, Ben rolled his shoulders. It had gotten boring just watching takedown after takedown. He felt disappointed with the graduating class as though he had some vested interest in whether they could best MM-0116. Maybe it was because of the way Hux had watched her initially. Maybe it was just his annoyance seeing anyone win over and over again. He wanted to see her down on the mat or stumbling back from a solid blow.

“It’s armor. In a combat situation, they would be required to keep their helmets on. Why should it be any different when they practice combat?” Hux asked mildly, glancing up frequently to watch the Elect on the mat turn trainees over her shoulder, kick legs out, grab onto fists and pull the trainee to the ground. As soon as a knee touched the mat the bout was over, and the first group of fifty or so trainees were all felled in just over an hour.

“In combat situations, let’s be real here, they’re not going to be fighting like this. Everyone knows a stormtrooper’s real strength is their blaster.” Ben shrugged and leaned back, then sat up again before he actually leaned into whomever was sitting behind them. “Come on, someone has to beat her. None of them can? Seriously?” He watched the next group filter through; it was a smaller batch from the next group of trainees. Obviously watching their comrades not even making a dent in her defenses had made some of them reevaluate their own skills. That was a little disappointing to him; he’d have hoped that more of them would see her as a challenge to be overcome.

Hux hummed, considering. “If everyone knows that a trooper’s strength is their aim, then that’s all the more reason to make sure that every trooper has other strengths.” He nodded at MM, who had taken a quick break to stretch and drink some water before going back onto the mat, facing down the young trainees.

“MM has been training for nearly her entire life. First in the lowlands of Ohnantye, and then here at Arkanis. She and twenty four others were given to the First Order by the Monks of her planet as a gesture of goodwill. She’s been one of the Academy’s best assets, and has spent a few years here to teach classes on the basics of her style.” As Hux spoke the second group started to fight her, only thirty out of the nearly two hundred troopers in the largest section daring to step up to her. “If any one of these trainees landed a hit I would be surprised. Even Phasma has difficulty when fighting Ems.”

“Then why isn’t she the head of your security? If her prowess is so extreme and even the captain has trouble with her in a fight?” Ben watched MM-0116 as she continued, unflagging. He was finding her small weaknesses, though he was not her opponent.

“I have used her for that purpose, at times. Stormtroopers, unlike officers, don’t have ranks. They have unit commanders and legion commanders, but no official station. The Elect are the highest kind of honor a trooper can earn.” Hux shrugged, looking up again to watch MM. “She has acted as my own bodyguard on occasion.”

One of the trainees, about average size, their armor giving no indication of gender, seemed to be faring better than the other young stormtroopers. They had managed to block MM’s two hard kicks without lowering their defences, their stance was low and strong. Hux raised his eyebrows slightly, watching them carefully.

“If he goes for her right hip, he’ll have her,” Ben whispered against Hux’s ear, leaning in close to him.

“It’s a non-critical blow. They need to hit her side, chest, spine, or head. Arms and legs don’t count,” Hux responded, not turning towards Ben. The smuggler kept his mouth where it was.

“Hip to turn her with a down blade kick, elbow to side, shove her shoulder with an open hand strike, jaw if she comes back up.” He kept his voice low, turning slightly to watch the fight again.

Hux made a noise as the opportunity passed without the trainee noticing the opening, or unable to complete the maneuver. With this trooper even Hux could see that MM-0116 was waiting to see if the trainee could find some other weakness. She stepped back from a kick, knocked away punches and let the trainee recover before jumping to attack them again. The fight had already gone on longer than any other when the trainee found the opening. MM had over-recovered from a kick and spun a little too far, and the trainee drove her knee to the ground with a well-placed low kick, and then stepped forward, turning, to hit her twice, tapping her spine and pushing her forwards slightly, eyes wide.

Hux sat back. He glanced over at Ben and raised his eyebrows.

“Want to know something?”

Ben had raised his chin when MM-0116 went down. Sure, he respected her as a fighter, but it was always something to watch the champion fall. He looked over at Hux, rubbing his hands on his knees as he sat back as well.

“What’s that?” he asked.

“She let that happen,” Hux said lowly, smirking a little. “Every year, each time a challenge is issued, not even Phasma expects any trainee to actually make it. Each specialist uses their discretion and allows a couple of troopers from each class to win. The ones with potential, at least.”

“Mm,” Ben agreed as he looked back to the mat. “She did let him get to her knee; she drops lower for defense normally. But that second hit? No, she didn’t expect that. Keep an eye on that trainee. He might be the next one you watch intently.” The smuggler stood up and stretched his arm. “These benches are horrible.”

Hux rolled his eyes.

“She knew it could happen,” he said, and his voice was totally confident, almost proud. “This is an excercise every year. She gives them opportunity, and they need to find out how to exploit it. If you went against her she would best you easily.”

Ben’s head snapped over to look down at Hux.

“That girl wouldn’t have a chance. She’s good, she’s very good, but not a single one of your stormtroopers stands a chance against a Force user.” He smiled a little and shrugged, gathering his pride around him the way Hux pulled on his greatcoat. “Your entire Order is underprepared for that.”

“Unprepared for an outlier is hardly unprepared.” Hux looked over at Ben, eyebrows up. “If I remember right, not too long ago the entire Jedi order was defeated by an army of mindless clones.” He turned back to watch MM smiling at the trainee that had gotten in his hit. The young man had taken off his helmet and was grinning up at her, the heated flush on his face obvious even through his darker skin. “If you and she engaged in straightforward hand to hand combat, I’d be willing to bet she’d drive you to the mat.”

Ben’s mouth had tightened and his hands were in fists by his side. Bringing up the Order 66 slaughter of the Jedi had made him angry, bringing up that shame that his family still carried even as they’d tried for a generation to fix it. He thought of his uncle’s temple, how few apprentices there were, and there was shame in his gut knowing that he had left, over and over again.

“Don’t make bets you couldn’t afford, general. It took an army to bring them down. It would take more than one monk to take me down.” He walked down the steps on the side of the raised seats, then stood at the bottom and leaned against the railing with his arms folded over his chest. Though all the helmets around him remained set in the direction of the mat, he could feel the eyes turned to where he was standing.

Hux made a noise, but didn’t make a move to stop him. Phasma turned towards Ben, and Hux could almost see the frown on her face. She looked up at him and he nodded.

MM-0116 looked over at Ben curiously, and Phasma went over to speak with her, taking off her helmet so that her voice didn’t project through the entire room. MM nodded once, taking a step back and going onto the mat, settling into a stance. Phasma put her helmet back on to address the room.

“We have a special guest here, recruits. Ben Solo is a respected fighter and a Force user, who incorporates his powers in his hand to hand combat movements. After seeing the demonstration he wishes to fight against MM-0116.” As she spoke, Ben unbuckled his gun belt and set it down on the ground, then laid his jacket on top of it. He tugged his boots off and left them standing beside the stack, socks balled up and dropped into one of them.

The hush that settled over the troopers was intense, and everyone was staring down at the mat. MM-0116 didn’t look concerned by this information, she just stared at Ben, dark eyes hard. Ben’s face was mild as he walked to the mat. He held the trooper’s eyes as he pulled the hairtie off his wrist and pulled his hair back from his face with it. He hadn’t really had the chance to stretch, and he wouldn’t be given the time now. He pulled his arms over his head, hand tugging on the opposite wrist to give his shoulders something to loosen and prepare them, then crouched to stretch his legs out to each side when he reached the edge of the mat. He smiled slightly as he straightened, and some of the anger he’d masked with his expression as he’d walked over came through when he showed his teeth.

“It’s an honor to fight you, miss,” he said quietly as he stepped onto the mat, rolling his shoulders before settling into his own starting stance.

“The honor will be mine,” she said quietly, her voice soft and not at all harsh. Her eyes never left his as he went into his stance.

Phasma took a deep breath, audible even through her helmet’s feedback modulator.

“Begin.”

Ben was never one to let his opponent set up the match, especially one he knew was so fast. Their styles were extremely different, and he was very aware of the fact that he couldn’t afford to let her under his guard. His first attack was tight, making sure he kept one hand up to block as a conscious thing; he rarely concentrated on defense in a fight, much to his uncle’s chagrin. He struck at her with the side of his right hand, immediately prepared to move on the mat when she blocked.

If Ben thought that MM-0116 was fast when she had been fighting even the other Elect, he would not be prepared for the sheer intensity of her movements now. Hux hadn’t been lying; hand to hand combat was not just her specialty, it was her sole purpose. She grabbed onto his right wrist, pulling him forward, forcing his body to turn with the momentum of his strike, leaving his right side open. She jabbed with her left and then spun into a kick, her foot connecting solidly with his stomach before she snapped back, already two feet away by the time she finished her moves. Her speed came at a price though; neither hit really hurt Ben, or just enough to fuel the anger that he’d already brought with him so the fight. He watched her for a moment, taking inventory of points of weakness he’d observed earlier. She must have taken an injury to her left elbow at some point, and while it would take extreme speed, after a full rotation, she overbalanced for half a second and made her right shoulder a target.

He closed the distance between them, jabbing with his left but pulling it back when she raised her arm to block. He took advantage of the brief opening to kick in front to catch her hip, then raised the second half of the kick to hit her higher. It was an answering blow, kick for kick, and he didn’t fall back when she did, not bothering to re-set himself as she recovered.

She managed to get an arm down by her hip by the second hit, and in the less than a second it took her to realize that he wasn’t going back to a ready stance, she turned into him, striking with her elbow, keeping her forearm over her chest. She wasn’t a slight woman, but Ben’s six foot three frame towered over her. The smuggler switched his guard arm, bringing that hand down to divert her elbow strike as he ducked back, letting her move past him while he aimed a quick punch at her lower back.

She turned to meet him, blocking his punch and opening up his guard, bringing her knee up to drive it into his torso. To evade her, he had no choice but to use the Force to enhance his speed and draw back. It was an impossible move, and he was annoyed that he’d had to do it, that he couldn’t just face her on level.

In the stands, Hux was leaning forward intently, watching the two of them. He recognized when Ben used his power to avoid a hit and his eyes narrowed, annoyed.

If MM-0116 was surprised, she didn’t show it, and continued to press forward. Her foot hit the ground from the failed strike and she spun so fast that it would be hard to predict the kick even if they were a seasoned Oahtahna practitioner. Using his enhanced senses without even trying to, Ben caught her foot and shoved her off balance, then stepped up behind her and grabbed her wrist. He pulled her arm up behind her back, putting tension on the elbow he’d already identified as a weak point as he held her and forced her forward.

As she got her stance back, her arm was held behind her back. While Ben had her arm pinned, this meant that he had allowed himself to be brought into her range. Twisting, her arm darted in between them, her hand wrapping around the back of his neck as she jumped up. She spun in an incredible display of martial skill and got both legs over his shoulders, wrapped around his neck as she twisted her wrist to get out of his grip. MM-0116 had put enough momentum behind herself that with the right application of strength and weight she was already forcing Ben’s back down to the mat, counting on his high center of gravity to help her.

He refused to go down, and he’d let this go on for Hux’s benefit long enough. If the asshole was even watching, he likely wanted his trooper to best him. The anger heated the air in his chest as he inhaled and he set his legs as his knees bent. Torso muscles screamed as he pulled himself forward against her weight, creating a momentary counterbalance that was unstable but enough to unseat her when he bowed his head, feeling her movements more than seeing them. He punched her side viciously as she fought for balance, then grabbed one ankle to yank her to the side when she tried to defend. He could have let her fall, let her regain her position, even just swept her feet out from underneath her when she tried to re-balance.

But he was tired of the game.

As she fell, already twisting for a perfect landing, he raised one hand and she was suspended for a few seconds too long for gravity to be in control. Fingers tensed, he pushed his hand forward slightly with his palm out. MM-0116 slammed down onto the mat on her back, the sound of the armor hitting with a certain finality. Breathing hard, Ben lowered his hand to his side. He knew the hush that followed the end of the fight. He’d known it all his life, and he hated it.

He walked to the far side of the mat and extended his hand to help the stormtrooper up.

“Here. Good fight.” Ben was fighting to keep himself intact, fighting the urge to finish the fight brutally, finally. That wasn’t who he was though, not really. He bent a little more to make it easier for her to grab his hand. He was Ben Solo, captain of the _Millennium Falcon_. He wasn’t...that.

MM’s eyes were huge as she hit the ground, and her breath was knocked out of her completely. The entire stadium was silent as Ben’s hand was held in between the two of them.

She swallowed, eyes darting to Phasma and then back to Ben, and for a second it looked as if she was waiting for orders. MM-0116 took a deep breath in and reached for his forearm, pulling herself up. She huffed and then turned away, but didn’t say anything as she went to stand with the rest of the Elect.

Hux had walked down the stands and made his way to stand near the exit, watching Ben with cold eyes. Phasma was the one who broke the silence.

“As you can see, extra care is needed when fighting against someone who can use the Force. Thank you, Ben, for that demonstration.”

The response echoed back hundreds of ‘thank you, Ben,’ repeated in a thunder. Ben thought he hated that more than the breathless silence. He nodded sharply and turned to walk back to the stand, pulling his boots and jacket on with jerky movements. He had to get out of here.

He hated hearing his name like that from a sea of faceless soldiers. The huge hall felt like it was closing in and he swore to himself when he couldn’t buckle his belt with his shaking fingers. As he turned to the exit, he looked down to get the holster buckled on correctly, then looked up to meet Hux’s eyes. They were like the rocks after the rain.

Hux tilted his head up, turning away to address the stormtroopers. “Congratulations to the trainee who struck the Elect. I hope to see a few more of you achieve the same success.” He saluted and the hundreds of future stormtroopers stood and saluted back to him. Hux looked at Ben one more time, clearly telling the man wordlessly that he should follow, before turning on his heel and exiting the massive gym. Ben rubbed the back of his neck, then yanked the hairtie out as he walked out after the general. He wasn’t in the mood to be scolded.

Outside, the rain had paused, though judging by the puddles that had formed while they’d been inside, it must have been a downpour. The air was chill and damp, and the sweat on his body was cooling unpleasantly.

Hux made a noise, shaking his head. He glanced at Ben, watching him carefully.

“We’re done for the day.”

“I thought you had some other academy function. A speech or something.” Ben could hear how tight his throat felt; his voice was somewhat strangled.

Hux shook his head again, fixing his hair. He wanted a cigarette and he wanted Ben out of his sight. He took a deep breath, looking over at Ben again.

“I do.” He set his jaw, turning towards Ben. He was watching him carefully and trying to figure out exactly how to speak to him. “What do you want?”

Ben wasn’t an idiot. He didn’t need it spoken aloud to know he’d been uninvited.

“I’ll go back to the house,” he said after a minute. “I’m sure I’ve interfered with enough of your plans today.”

Hux ran his hand through his hair, looking down.

“And leave you alone to cause more trouble?” Hux said quietly, straightening again. “Stay with me.” He turned away from Ben, heading to the main cadet’s building. Ben’s jaw tightened on all the things he wanted to say. It was unfair to be blamed for winning using an ability that, for him, was as natural as breathing. And Hux had goaded him to fight. Otherwise, he’d have just remained in the stands for the duration.

“Sorry, general,” he muttered under his breath. “I guess you let my leash get too long for a minute.” Just before their reached the building, the heavy clouds above them stopped just threatening rain. Ben turned his face up with a sigh. Of course it was raining. How much better could this planet get?

“If your leash had been tight enough to begin with you would have waited to challenge MM-0116,” Hux snapped, not looking back at Ben. “You challenged an Elect stormtrooper as she was giving a demonstration to young trainees. If she had said no she would have shown weakness. So you forced her to fight you and then you don’t even have the decency to fall down when she had you beaten.”

“Beaten? I won the damned fight! I don’t know how the First Order does it, but the rest of the real world doesn’t stop a fight just because someone tells you that you’ve lost.” Ben dug his fingernails into his palms, feeling the anger from earlier rising up again. He hadn’t buried it as deeply as he’d thought. “You’re just sore because I beat your personal favorite.”

Hux turned on him, glaring. “You’re so eager to prove that you’re strong that you seem intent on proving everyone else weak.” He took the few steps to get close to Ben, holding onto his shirt. “You cannot compromise the position of those I have chosen to lead.” Hux’s voice was low and angry.

Ben jerked back, rain plastering his hair to his forehead. He’d fought because Hux challenged him. Had the general just wanted to see him fail?

“In every fight, Arrik, there’s a winner and a loser. In that moment, one is strong and one is weak. I will not have any weaknesses. Your empty threats are nothing unless you’re going to back them up by stepping into the battle yourself.” He bared his teeth. “Now. Let go of me.”

“You didn’t think for a single second that maybe you should have waited until there wasn’t an audience of four hundred? You gained nothing from that!” Hux was still close to him, and he didn’t let go of Ben’s shirt. “You couldn’t even test her, you didn’t even try, you were so intent on winning that you wasted any opportunity for betterment.”

“You wanted me to fight!” Ben half-shouted in Hux’s face. “I would have just stood there by the stands, but you gave Phasma some secret signal and she was suddenly announcing a match! Did you think I would let anyone beat me? Did you think I would do that ever again?”

“You went down there of your own accord,” Hux growled, his voice low. “What was she supposed to do? What kind of message were you sending, standing with the trainees, waiting in line to fight against the Elect trooper I had chosen as the combat instructor? You were down there with intent, and you forced my hand.”

“I don’t know! I don’t know what sort of crazy things the lot of you do. But I will tell you this. I hope these mysterious Knights of Ren are better than your Elect, or I’ll be headed back to the _Falcon_ within the month. I won’t stick around to be insulted and bored.” He grabbed onto Hux’s wrist and squeezed the bones together. “Now let go of me.”

Hux’s mouth curled and he snapped his hand away, still glaring at Ben. “If you continue to act like this you won’t last a month,” Hux sneered, taking a step back. “I thought with your powers you had some gift of foresight.”

“As if you know anything about the Force that I haven’t shown you,” Ben growled as he stepped back from the other man. “Enjoy your speech to your elite and special cadets. I think I’ve heard enough of you for one day. Maybe you can give my seat to MM-0116. I bet she’d give her left greave to get that close to you in public.”

Making a noise, Hux glared at Ben. He glanced to the side and then sighed through his nose, rubbing his temple. This sort of argument would not do, there was no benefit now that Ben had already created this situation. “Why are you so fixated on that trooper?”

“Why were you?” Ben questioned him back immediately. He was still ready for a fight, even though Hux was obviously trying to defuse the situation.

Hux shook his head, frowning deeply. “No more than anyone else. Out of all the Elect, she is the combat specialist. Of course I would pay attention to her.”

“Right. Right, okay.” Ben made a noise. “Of course. Well, I’m glad you were watching closely. I hope that makes you reconsider your next flippant remark about the Clone Wars.” He turned to head back down the the path to the big house in the distance.

The officer frowned and took the few steps to catch up to Ben, snagging his elbow. “That’s what this is about? You questioned my soldiers’ training and after I brought up a small textbook footnote you decide to beat up my trooper?”

“Order 66 is not a footnote to a Jedi.” A small part of Ben stabbed at the general area of his conscience. What were Jedi matters to him? How long since he’d called himself one in earnest? How many years since he’d actually been a padawan learner? “You said you’d lay a bet against my besting her. Don’t place bets you can’t pay on.” He pulled his arm away from Hux’s grip.

“I may not be prone to levity, but I am not entirely serious every single second of my kriffing life,” Hux growled, more annoyed than he should have been. “Will you demand an account of every word I say just so you can hold me to it?”

“Be more careful flinging out challenges, general. I’m pretty sure several assassinations have happened because of comments just like that.” Ben poked his finger against Hux’s chest hard. “Go give your speech. You spent all those hours practicing it in the mirror for this moment.”

“What is wrong with you?” Hux asked, glaring. “I’m not trying to fight with you.”

“With me? What’s wrong with you? With your...secret academy and your house and...and your fights with pre-ordained winners.” This was all wrong suddenly. He couldn’t be here, he didn’t belong here. It was just another place his abilities and his name had followed him to, with the same results. “I...I have to go.”

“Ben, what...” Hux’s anger had given way to confusion, and he didn’t know what to say to the younger man. The officer was frowning deeply and he shook his head. “Let’s go back to the house then,” he muttered, putting his hand on Ben’s lower back, turning and pushing towards the mansion. Ben made a noise that was half protest, but ultimately he let Hux lead him back down the wide path to the house’s imposing front door.

Walking with him, Hux took a deep breath and sighed through his nose. “The Academy is not a secret; at this point it’s been around for nearly fifty years. My father is its founder, so of course I have a kriffing house here. That fight...should have happened at another time.” He swallowed, hand still pressed against Ben’s back as they walked. “That was what I was trying to say.”

Ben took a deep breath, concentrating on the gloved hand at the small of his back. He had to let it go; this anger wasn’t helpful to him unless he planned to start a war himself on the Academy. He knew what the change in Hux’s voice meant. He had to let it go.

“Fine. I’ll make sure I remain only an observer from here on out.” He glanced up at the house when Hux did, mirroring his gesture. For a flutter of a second, he thought he saw a small pale face in one of the top windows, but when it was gone it was easy to remind himself that it was only a trick of the sky reflecting on the glass. He lowered his eyes as they walked in. “Honest, you should head to your commencement speech.”

“I have a while yet,” he said quietly, his hand falling. He walked ahead of Ben, taking off his jacket and putting in the front closet before looking over his shoulder at the smuggler. “Are you hungry?”

“I could eat.” Ben looked around the foyer as they walked in as though he expected it to have changed since they’d left. “I should probably clean up too. Now I’m soaking wet and sweaty. That’s a great first impression.” He didn’t know what kind of impression he wanted to make now. There was a part of him that wanted to just stay up in the guest room until the shuttle arrived to take him to...wherever he was going next.

Hux frowned, looking Ben up and down. He couldn’t even begin to predict the man’s mood swings, and he seemed to run back in forth in between over-excited and dangerously petulant like a young child. “If you prefer to cook for yourself, you have access to the kitchen. If you’d like to be served, a droid can make you a meal.”

“Droid,” Ben said as though that was the piece of a puzzle he’d needed. He pulled off his wet jacket and hung it gingerly on a hook in the big closet. “What’re you eating?”

Hux considered for a second, looking down at his datapad. “Something fresh. Despite the rain, Arkanis manages to have tillable soil.”

“Do you go get stuff from your garden? Or did someone leave food in the kitchen for you?” Ben asked curiously.

“Did? When I was a child?” Hux looked over at him, frowning. He walked past Ben, going into the hallway that led to the great dining room and the kitchen behind it. “I sometimes ate breakfast with my mother. Dinner was a family affair, or there were attempts made in that direction. Whenever my father was gone I was left to fend for myself.” He smirked, looking over at Ben. “It was so hard to find food. There was a well stocked kitchen and a cafeteria in the Academy, and half a dozen droids around that I learned how to reprogram by age seven.”

Ben compared this information silently to his own childhood. Mealtimes were simple but scheduled at the Temple, but with either parent, they were often so busy that feeding their son was an afterthought. Leia brought him snacks, and Chewbacca seemed to know when Ben was hungry, but he’d learned young to secure meals for himself as well. Whether it was mentioning it to C-3PO or just using the Force to push the button on the comm panel that connected to the Senate kitchen, or finally taking over the galley on his father’s ship, Ben had learned that when you were hungry, the only one who really cared was you.

“Well, let’s just poke around in there and see what we can come up with then. You want fresh? I’m sure they brought something fresh.” His anger had melted away again so quickly even he couldn’t explain it, but he’d noticed sometimes in the past few weeks, when he was in a state fit to notice, that his emotions could change sharply.

“Are you offering to cook for me again?” Hux asked, going into the kitchen and heading back to the icebox. “I gave orders to have fresh ingredients brought in.” Ben followed closely behind him.

“I don’t need to cook. I bet there’s stuff we can eat and still be easy.” He looked around the large kitchen with its several chef stations. There was one droid positioned by the main station, with a conveyor belt from the icebox supplying requested foods.

Hux made a noise, gesturing. He leaned against the opposite counter, looking down at his pad again. “Knock yourself out.”

The icebox was more than filled up with things to tempt the general’s palate. While there wasn’t a lot of color variation in the fruit and vegetables, everything smelled incredibly fresh. Some of the food had obviously been selected for snacking; Ben grabbed a container of hard boiled eggs and an armload of greens and vegetables. When he set the ingredients down on the counter, the droid whirred to life.

“No, no! I got it!” he hastened to tell it when it turned huge round eyes toward him. The droid’s cutting appendages lowered slowly, and Ben considered, not for the first time, how the droids created for the culinary industry could have been brutal in a fight with just a little bit of reprogramming.

Cooking was stupidly calming for the smuggler. In the quiet punctuated only by the knife on the thick wooden block, he could regain whatever it was he’d lost in the arena. If he let himself think about it, it was a little terrifying. He’d always had a temper (something he got from both parents, as he was reminded over and over), but he’d never had as many times like those, where he felt that his control had slipped. The repetitive movements here helped. The sound was a backbeat to the fresh scents, and his hands were working and active while his mind could settle. The kitchen was large and open, with big windows to try to catch any of the dim light the grey weather could spare. He chopped up some fragrant fresh leafy herbs and tossed them with the rest of the salad, then pushed the big bowl into Hux’s hand. The man had been watching his datapad the whole time.

“Here. I’m still trying to hunt up your vinegars. I found an entire cabinet of oils, but the vinegar is more secretive.” He smiled a little and shrugged. “I really like vinegar on salads.”

Hux half watched Ben cook, distracted by the notices and questions that came up on his datapad. There had been a large-scale riot in a capital city under First Order control and the commander in charge was struggling to find a way to compromise with the local sentients. He glanced up at the younger man as he found himself staring at a bowl of greens and beet-like roots rather than riot control gear.

“I’m hardly more familiar with this kitchen.” Hux frowned, looking up at Ben. But instead of arguing, he sighed and put his pad and the large bowl on the station behind him, looking around the area. Ben glanced at the pad, catching a planet name he didn’t recognize before looking away. Hux walked past Ben and crouched down, opening a bottom drawer and pulling out a pair of flasks, one clearly marked in aurekbesh.

He put both on the counter and then found them two forks, setting one by the two vinegars. Ben walked over to pick up one of the bottles, raising his eyebrows as he read the label. He didn’t know how the rest of the First Order lived, but everything in the general’s home was exceptional.

“Which one of these is better for salad? I like something tangy but a little bit sweet. Especially when I’m pairing with eggs.” He affected the high tone drawl one of the Mid Rim world Senators used whenever he discussed food. When he was a child, his impressions of other Senators had been a sure fire way to make his mother smile; he’d worked on them tirelessly, needing to be that bright spot for Leia even before he understood why she needed it so badly.

Hux hummed, thinking before he shrugged. “I’m not really sure.” The general missed the impression entirely, frowning as he picked his pad back up, leaning against the counter to look over the reports and eat at the same time. The general was a man who didn’t argue with food, and he picked absently through the salad, sending directives and suggestions to Acting Commander Certyl. Despite their reputation, the First Order tried compromise first and ruthless military force second.

Ben was happy to eat and watch the rain against the windows. It felt familiar, though he’d obviously never stood in this kitchen and watched it before. But rain on windows happened almost everywhere, and it created a mood that wasn’t always easy to define but was easy to sink into. He was quiet, only making a noise when he clinked his fork against Hux’s when the man blindly tried to spear an egg slice he’d intended to eat.

“Hey there, general. No encroachment on my salad sovereignty here. That egg’s mine,” he insisted, watching Hux with a slight smile.

Hux looked up at him, confused for a second before glancing down at the bowl and moving his fork away. “All yours.”

Ben laughed and set his fork down, walking to get himself a glass of water. He didn’t understand the other man.

“No, no. I bow to the First Order. Please take my egg. Don’t send troopers! Just take it!” He grinned and kept his eyes on Hux as he sipped from his glass.

Hux sighed through his nose, a little too distracted. He knew that Ben was joking around. After the sort of outburst that happened earlier, he thought better of dismissing the younger man.

“Mm.” Hux took the egg from the salad, eating it with his eyes on Ben. “Smart choice.”

And that was all it took. Ben was satisfied as he leaned back against the counter, smiling more broadly as he turned the cup in his hands.

“Yeah, well.” He shrugged and tilted his head, just a few degrees to the left. “Every once in awhile I know when I’m beat.”

“Is that right?” Hux muttered, turning back to his pad, frowning slightly at the new notifications that continued to pop up. Messages from the _Finalizer_ , which loomed over Arkanis, unseen through the clouds. Notifications from Commander Sage, from Captain Phasma, others from the _Indomitable_ and the _Ruthless_ , guarding the Western expanses in his stead. “How am I supposed to know when that happens?”

Ben watched him even after Hux had looked away. He let the silence stretch between them with just the rain on the windows punctuating the time. The general probably didn’t even need an answer; again, he recognized that way of speaking. It was his father trying to figure out if he’d timed everything correctly for a run (“Yeah, yeah, Ben, that’s neat. Don’t drop it, okay?”) or his mother reading through pages and pages of a proposal for a committee (“Mmhmm, that’s good, sweetheart. What did you do next?”). He didn’t need to bother saying anything.

“I’ll tell you,” he said finally, finishing up his water and setting the glass on the counter. “Thanks for lunch. I’m going to go track down my room.”

Hux glanced up at Ben again, eyebrows up.

“Are you feeling unwell?”

“What?” Ben laughed and made a face. “You’re not supposed to insult the cook that way.”

“It’s hardly an insult,” Hux muttered, frowning. “You’re just...you’ve become fairly erratic that last few weeks. I’m finding it harder to anticipate your needs.”

“Erratic,” Ben scoffed, shaking his head to protest the idea. “You don’t need to anticipate my needs. I’m just...here.” He swallowed and turned to take his glass to the sink. He imagined the droid took care of all the dishes as well. He tried to focus on that, on the mechanics of the kitchen, rather than the fact that Hux was right. What was worse than him knowing was the fact that he’d noticed that something had changed, that Ben was different. He’d thought he was hiding it well, those spikes of depression and anger that came up out of nowhere at all the wrong times. He was just trying to be himself. Just because he was training differently, that shouldn’t change anything about him, should it?

Obviously something had changed. He set the glass down into the deep sink carefully, as though just thinking about his anger could trigger it.

Hux watched him, the tension in his shoulders, the way that Ben seemed to want to make sure that his hands had a steady grip on whatever he touched. He left the pad on the counter and took the few steps over to Ben, putting his hand around the other man’s elbow and pulling him slightly.

“Why don’t you stay near me?” he offered carefully. “There’s a few hours before the commencement, and I have some situations to deal with. The study is quiet, and you can rifle through whatever books have been collecting dust over the years.”

“Trying to educate me, sweet cheeks?” Ben asked brightly to cover his relief. He’d thought he wanted to be alone. Getting out of the gymnasium, out into the rain, back at the house, back in the guestroom. All he’d thought about was that he needed to be alone. But alone meant his mind could be very loud. He was afraid of what it would pull up. “Yeah, sure, I’ll see what sort of ancient reading material the Huxes kept around.”

Hux rolled his eyes, letting go of Ben and going back to the counter. He picked up his pad but left the bowl, going out of the kitchen.

“Come on then.”

He went through the great dining room and then down a hallway, pushing open a set of sliding doors that led into a library that was entirely too old fashioned for Arrik’s own tastes. Perhaps because of the wooden details and crafted furniture; it was beautiful, the ceiling installed with a massive digital skylight that showed the weather over the house with such sharp clarity it was almost as if the rain were sliding down to soak into the old books and artwork hung on the walls. Just as the room was designed to make him do, Ben looked up as he walked in.

“An addition of my mother’s,” Hux explained, walking through the main seating area to the doors on the opposite end of the impressive library. It seemed to be one of the few rooms that had remained untouched by Hux’s own hands. Except for the grand dining area, the rest of the home had been fixed and retrofitted to suit the last living member of the family.

“It’s stunning,” Ben said sincerely. “I guess your mom didn’t really mind the rain as much.” He looked over at Hux as they passed through the room. “Did she spend a lot of time in here?” It was hard to imagine the general’s mother, especially compared to what he knew about Hux’s father already.

“This was her favorite room. You can’t hear the rest of the house.” Hux opened the doors to the large study, and it was much more modern, the wood details minimal, one of the walls made of glass and opening onto the garden. It was a massive study, with a desk facing a wall that was obviously turned into a screen for whatever computer linkup Hux had programmed. There was a couch and a pair of chairs, reminiscent of the leather and metal accoutrements on the _Javelin_. The bright spot was the wall opposite the screen which had been turned into a terraformed vertical garden of sorts, with vines, moss, and flowers climbing up the carefully terraced textures.

He left the doors open, keeping the study and library open to each other, before going over to sit at the desk, which sprouted two smaller screens for his own use. Hux glanced up at Ben.

“You’re free to take anything from the library. Sit where you wish.”

Ben was still taking everything in, this odd sanctuary that Hux had created. He could work here, obviously, and since that seemed to be what the man took the most pleasure in, why wouldn’t he have made himself the perfect office in his own home? But the sight of growing things, green plants and deeper green mosses, changed the room and made it seem like there was a touch of the person whose personal space Arrik had left untouched as a barrier between himself and the rest of the house.

What Hux had said a moment ago echoed in Ben’s head again.

“Thanks...thanks.” He walked over to look over the growing wall for a moment, then turned to walk back into the library itself. The shelves were full with antique books, some of their bindings cracked and flaking with age. He frowned as he pulled one down to leaf through it. It was newer, new enough that it seemed strange to bind it. When he opened it, it was a collection of older pieces, some pages only remnants. They were all battle accounts, though he didn’t know what had made someone decide to keep them all together. The final section was hand written notes. He closed it but didn’t put it back. He walked around the room, pulling down books with edges that appealed to him. One turned out to be an old, hand-painted storybook. Another that he had to reach high up for, turned out to be some sort of journal with sketchy illustrations. He carried all of them back to the study.

“Did your parents collect all these books? Or is this library sort of a generational collaboration?” he asked, flopping down onto the sofa.

“It’s a collection.”

Ben nodded and opened the children’s book over his lap. The pages were wrinkled slightly, wavy from the damp.

“So I have to ask.” He looked over at Hux again, who remained staring at his work. “Did you get the red hair from your mom or your dad?”

Hux gestured slightly, not looking away from the screens. “My father. One of his less obnoxious portraits is up in the library. I’m told there’s an uncanny resemblance.” Ben immediately closed the book and stood up. Hux’s eyebrows lifted as he glanced over at Ben. Curiosity was a mighty thing.

“Where?” he asked as he walked back to the open door. “Is this an old style actual portrait or a holo?”

“It’s a painting,” Hux looked up, watching Ben go back into the library. “On your left, by the writing desk.”

Ben nodded to himself as he walked back out into the library.

“On my left,” he murmured, looking up at the wall as he turned his head. He felt his hand tighten on the book he was still holding when he found the portrait.

Whomever had painted the man had a skill that rivaled technology. There was real texture to the skin and to the hair that was combed back neatly from a pale, sharp face. There were some lines around the mouth and eyes, but the likeness was unmistakable. This Commandant Hux was identical to the younger General Hux in the next room, down to his tight expression and the way he held his chin. Ben swallowed as he scanned the face above him, almost desperate to find differences. The mouth was thinner, but he wasn’t sure if that was a feature difference or just the result of the man cruelly pressing his lips. And the eyes. They were grey, rather than Arrik’s richly leveled blue. Rather than being a color, the grey looked more like the absence of one. This was the man who didn’t want to even give his son a name. This man with his Arkanis sky eyes. What would he have called him? Would he have given him a number, just like the-

Ben felt the hair on the back of his neck rise and he willfully turned himself away from the portrait. Was Arrik Brendol’s son at all? Or had he tried to make himself the perfect clone?

He stared at the opposite wall for a few minutes before he realized he was looking at another portrait. It had been painted by the same artist, but there was something more loving in the brush strokes, maybe because that feeling was easier to capture in the subject. She could only be Arrik’s mother. Here, in her favorite room, where she couldn’t hear the rest of the house. He met her eyes (blue, of course they were blue, though there was no other resemblance to Arrik at all) and took a deep breath. Beneath the portrait, on a raised pedestal, there was a small dark wood box. He didn’t need to ask what it held. Wherever Brendol Hux’s final resting place was, it was not in this sanctuary.

He walked back into the study and sat down heavily on the couch, not saying anything for a minute. The book lay closed on his lap and he smoothed his hand over the cover before opening it slowly. On the inside cover, a child had claimed the book as his own with uneven letters drawn in ink. A HUX.

“The pictures are pretty realistic, huh? Good artist,” he commented finally.

Hux shrugged, examining the plans and going over the accords put forth by the native government, which held largely intact. They didn’t seem too unreasonable, but a few of the demands would be curbed as unacceptable regressions.

“Not every officer’s son becomes an officer himself,” he said absently, frowning as he read over the notes provided by commanders. “Some are even given free reign to wander the galaxy as starving artists.” He glanced over at Ben, almost smirking. “We’re forward thinkers.”

Ben met his eyes and smiled a little, face a little more open than the other man’s. All the same, he was overlaying the general’s face with his father’s, matching up all the angles.

“Forward thinking, sure, I get it. You should have grabbed a couple years of freedom yourself. What do you do? Draw? Sing? Dance? What secret ability are you hiding beneath that uniform?” He closed the book again and leaned forward.

“I told you that I fenced at the academy.” Hux turned away to look at the screens again, frowning. “I didn’t have much time to take on other hobbies. I sparred, I flew, I studied. There was not much else I could waste energy on.”

“And you shot,” Ben pointed out, looking down as he opened the book again. “You didn’t even write your full name in here. I almost picture you as a tiny little adult.”

“Well ‘R’s are difficult.” Hux said mildly, looking down to type quickly, the characters scrolling across the screen.

“I used to love writing ‘Solo’ when I was a kid,” Ben commented as he flipped through the book. The pictures were well drawn, though maybe not expertly. “‘Organa’ gave me a little more trouble.”

Hux was having a hard time concentrating on Ben while he was crafting letters of purpose for Certyl. He was frowning as he looked back at Ben. “When did you use Organa?”

“Mm, whenever I was with my mom at the Senate. I was always Ben Organa to the Senators.” Ben was still bent over the book, speaking absently as he turned pages, half reading the story. “Though I think every time they looked at me they were thinking Ben Vader.” He snorted and shook his head.

Hux frowned deeper, focusing on Ben. “What’s that?” He shifted, glancing up at the screen and sending the note to the Commandant. He turned towards Ben again. “They called you that?”

Ben didn’t look up, and his light tone belied how hurtful the memory actually was. He rubbed his thumb on the edge of the book cover before answering.

“Five year olds are invisible to most adults. Unless they’re doing something the adults find charming or annoying.” He took a deep breath. “I guess I was what you could call an active kid. Okay, I was a problem kid sometimes. Which included tantrums, which included throwing things. With the Force. Annoying? Yeah, obviously. Looking back, I annoy myself. But when I was quiet, I listened. My mom taught me that. And like I said, kids are invisible. So I heard what they said. About my mom. About me.”

Hux frowned, watching Ben intently.

“Is that why you left the Senate? Or...why you didn’t pursue a career in politics?”

“Because they didn’t trust me?” Ben flipped another page and made a noise. “That happens everywhere...but yeah, you’re right. It was the most pointed there. But I left there to go train with my uncle, actually.”

“Luke Skywalker.”

Ben looked up for a second and was surprised to see Hux watching him so closely. He smirked and winked at the other man.

“That’s the one,” he said, then looked back down to the book.

“Then what?” Hux asked, frowning. “What happened there?”

Ben didn’t answer right away. This time, his shoulders drew up and he turned the page with an exaggerated gesture.

“Eh, I wanted to see more. You know me. I’m not big on rules. Surprise, surprise, Jedi have lots of rules. As fast as my uncle can uncover them.” He took a deep breath. “Not that I regret my time there. Obviously, I learned a lot.”

“That’s the entire reason you’re here, isn’t it,” Hux said mildly, turning back to his screens. The riots had calmed, but there was still some political posturing to be done. Hux would usually leave his duties at Arkanis to attend to this situation, but he couldn’t afford to leave Ben alone.

“Because of rules?” Ben shook his head, sitting back into the couch cushions. “Nah, that has nothing to do with it. I just wanted to see what you had going on here.”

“You came here because you wanted to see more,” Hux replied, pulling up another screen, observing the newest updates from the _Finalizer_.

“Isn’t that why anyone does anything?” Ben ran his hand through his hair, then looked down at the book. The picture was some sort of king, with a smaller queen and even smaller prince. He frowned and looked closer. The eyes of the king had been scratched out. Ben blinked and realized it had just been a strange shadow from the tech on the wall by him. He swallowed and ran his finger over the king’s unmarred face, then around the little prince’s head. The strange lights in the room caught on some uneven bits and formed a sort of corona around him. He shifted the book on his lap and that disappeared as well.

“Maybe not,” Hux said absently to Ben, focused again on the information flashing in front of him.

“Like you weren’t trying to get off this rock?” Ben asked, taking a deep breath and closing the book.

“My desire to leave Arkanis was not motivated by a desire to see the galaxy.”

“No...I guess you were just playing military, huh?” Ben knocked the book against his knee, then set it down on the couch next to him. He picked up the journal, opening it slowly. He winced at the faint creaking noise of the binding.

“I don’t play military, Ben,” Hux muttered, frowning. “I think I’ve demonstrated that many times.” He was still looking over the screens as he spoke. The information shifted back over to the riots, and he was getting constant feedback from three different sources on the planet.

“Yeah, yeah. Crafty little general that you are.” Ben shifted on the couch to sit sideways, boots up as he went through the journal. This was exactly the type of book his uncle was always looking for. History of battles that Jedi had fought in during the Clone Wars, not the careful texts of the Empire but the notes of military men and women who’d been there. It obviously didn’t have anything about how the Jedi fighters were performing their extraordinary feats, but just reading the descriptions of what they were able to do gave him a little thrill. “Hey.” He looked up to watch Hux’s back. “When did your family get this? Have you ever read it?”

Hux frowned, turning to look at Ben. He looked down at the book and shook his head, looking a little confused as he stood up. Going over, he took the book from Ben to flip through it for a few seconds.

“My father.” Hux held the book back to him. “He collected accounts of the Clone Wars. It was part of his research for Arkanis. I’ve read some of them, most are pretty similar. It’s the officer’s final reports that provide the most insight, I think.”

“For a battle, sure.” Ben took the book and looked down at the cover again. “I guess the parts about Force users wouldn’t be too useful to your academy.”

Hux breathed out slowly, shrugging. “No. But there are plenty of accounts of Jedis as acting generals in the library. Scraps of my father’s obsession.”

“Your father had an interesting obsession. To me anyway.” Ben opened to a random page, then looked up at Hux again. “Can I take any of these books up to my room with me?”

“It was self serving.” Hux went back to his desk. “Pick out whatever interests you. You can have them.”

“I like to read before bed, though I usually fall asleep before I get far.” Ben’s eyes followed Hux, then he looked back to the page in front of him. Some of it was hard to read. Being a war chronicler didn’t require good handwriting.

“Take them. Whatever you find.” Hux couldn’t care less about the old books in this library. If Ben found something worthwhile in between the dust and bad memories, let him have it.

“I promise to put them back where I found them.” Ben smiled and turned to the next page, looking over the sketch of the battlefield that had been carefully drawn in to cover the whole sheet.

“I’m not being sarcastic,” Hux muttered, looking over at him again. “Take whatever you’d like.”

“I’m not going to take your books,” Ben said with surprise, turning his head and meeting Hux’s eyes. “They belong as part of your library. It would feel weird to break up the collection.”

Hux made an annoyed noise in the back of his throat, frowning. “It’s hardly a collection I keep up.” He pulled up schematics of the city, noting where the riots had taken place. “I don’t think you’ll have access to another library for a while. Take what you can. Not all of it on a digital platform.”

“Well...I might grab one or two. For shuttle reading or whatever.” Ben settled comfortably on the couch.

“As you’d like,” Hux murmured softly, frowning at the screen. Ben went back to reading, pieces together several scraps on one of the pages. The old adhesive had a pungent, distinctive scent. He brushed his fingers over the identifiers on the map.

The quiet of the room and his exhaustion from the night before caught up to Ben and he dozed on the couch while Hux continued working. He lost track of the time and when the other man woke him, he had just enough time to run back upstairs to wash his face (he wished he had time for a shower, especially considering he’d sparred in this outfit and it was the only one he had with him) before dashing back down to meet the general by the door. He left the two books about the Clone Wars, including the journal, sitting on his pillow to wait for bedtime.


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> t/w...just manipulative shit. just not nice things. (but isn't that what u came for...)

The nap had done Ben a lot of good; he felt more stable as they walked out into the grey hazy Arkanis day. The rain was holding off for the minute, at least. He looked over at Hux as they walked. The general must have taken some time to spruce up himself. His hair was impeccably combed and he seemed to wear his uniform even more crisply than he had in the study.

“So what are we walking into exactly?” Ben asked, hands in his jacket pockets.

“I’m addressing the graduating class of officer cadets.” Hux spoke as he walked, holding his pad in one hand. “Some have stations on the _Finalizer_ , but all have their assignments throughout the First Order.”

“You must feel like a proud father,” the smuggler commented, laughing a little. The air had turned sharply colder. This was not a planet he would have ever chosen on his own.

“I hope to never feel like that.” Hux glanced over at Ben as they walked. “This might not be exciting for you.”

“The speech or the ceremony? There is a ceremony, right? Fireworks? Chants? Ritual sacrifice?” Ben grinned obnoxiously. “Is that why you want me there?”

Hux frowned, shaking his head. “This is just a speech. Questions afterwards. There’s a small commemoration for conferring rank that’s done later.”

“What happens if I fall asleep?” Ben asked as they got to the large building. It was closer than the trooper gymnasium had been, to the south of the Hux home. It was, predictably, large and grey and imposing.

“Just stay in the back of the classroom and I won’t embarrass you in front of the cadets.” Hux smirked over at Ben, eyebrows up. Ben laughed outright, reaching for one of the huge door handles. He yanked the door open and pulled it back, gesturing for Hux to walk in.

“I really appreciate that sort of kindness.” He peeked into the hall and made a noise to himself. This was more people than he’d expected, obviously not comparable to the number of stormtroopers, but enough rows of uniforms to make an impression.

Hux walked into the hall without any hesitation. He glanced over at Ben, eyebrows up, and gave instruction quietly. “Sit wherever you’d like.”

The cadets all stood up, saluting the general as he walked in. Hux smiled slightly, although it was affected, and raised his hand as he made his way down to the floor of the large classroom. Ben took a deep breath as he walked in behind the other man, then slid into a seat close to the back of the room. He didn’t intend to make good on his threat to fall asleep. He just felt that he shouldn’t be too close to the front.

It was obvious that the cadets had been waiting for them, but according to Hux’s schedule, he hadn’t made them wait for very long. He saluted casually and the young officers sat down in rows, starting at the back. There were a few professors sitting in the front row of the seminar who waited to shake Hux’s hand before sitting down. One of the professors went to the stand that had been placed there, and as she spoke, her voice echoed through the room.

“Cadets, for your commencement speech, General Armitage Hux.” She stepped away from the main podium, and there was polite applause as Arrik went to the small pedestal set up for him. Ben frowned and glanced around quickly to see the reactions of those sitting around him. Everyone was sitting with eyes faced forward, clapping with mildly pleased faces. The smuggler looked back to Hux, trying to catch his eye. _Armitage?_ he mouthed.

Hux ignored Ben, knowing that the use of his formal name would have sparked some kind of interest. Instead he placed his pad down, swiping to pull up his notes before stepping away. Looking over the cadets there was a sort of fierce pride in his eyes. Here were the best and brightest around him. The First Order realized and made flesh.

“You have been preparing years on years for the honors you will receive over next few days,” Hux began, and his voice carried over the still crowd. It was a smaller seminar, but packed with just about two hundred future officers of the First Order. Ben sat back, arms folded over his chest as usual. He’d never heard the general speak like this, as a general to his troops, inspiring rather than just giving orders.

“Your bars are not just an appointment, not only a career, but a way of life. I have seen your results, watched your technicals, and I know,” he paused, looking up at these men and women, these sentients who had dedicated most of their young lives to the Order already, and most of them not even out of their teen years. “I know that I am watching the rising glory of the First Order.

“The First Order...the First Order has no enemy but chaos.” Hux didn’t look at his notes as he spoke, stepping out from behind the pedestal and addressing the cadets as he walked across the lecture floor. “We strive toward that ideal, ever forward, fighting back the entropy that pervades the galaxy. In order to achieve that goal, we need strong leaders. Leaders with vision, with the ability to make the choices that need to be made.”

Ben kept his eyes on Hux as the general went on. Obviously the speech had been written before and practiced until it was smooth and natural. He’d watched his mother repeat a speech over and over, before a mirror, in front of him while he ate breakfast, to herself as she did her hair. Her conviction in her speeches was absolute, but had the cadence of the seasoned politician.

Arrik Hux spoke like a man inspired. Every word was pulled from the air while his datapad scrolled pointlessly on the podium behind him. It was more than conviction that raised his voice. It was absolute purpose. He believed these things, he lived these things, he expected the same excellence and devotion from everyone he came in contact with. His belief pulled Ben in, as though just by talking about it, Hux would fix the problems he’d found in the galaxy. It was like he’d identified all the fractures and fragments and could see the bigger picture, a galaxy made whole and ordered. An existence without frustrated stagnation. A life of decision and power and change.

Throughout the speech -which wasn’t long, he tended to keep these affairs as short as possible- the general did not raise his voice, but he was heard. The room was silent, leaning forward, and Hux continued to walk slowly.

“In short, cadets, we are the last stand against the disorder that threatens to overtake every aspect of our universe. Small planetary cultures, intergalactic conflicts, ineffective governments. We will...You will bring the First Order to the universe.”

The cadets stood and began to applaud, and Hux gave a tight smile, going back behind the podium and turning off his datapad. He nodded and raised a hand. and the future First Order officers stopped slowly as they resumed their seats..

“Thank you, you have all worked very hard.” He shifted slightly, taking a deep breath as he looked over the cadets. “If you have any questions, now is the time.”

Several hands shot up immediately. They were not tentative; they demanded to be called on, limbs sharp with military precision even here. Perhaps especially here, Ben reflected. They were here in front of the man who represented everything they wanted to be. Hux wasn’t some grizzled old war veteran, raised to a general’s rank in the bowels of a drawn out war. Arrik Hux was sharp and fresh and young. Ben still wasn’t sure what type of experience the other man had. He knew his ship, he knew his resources. He definitely hadn’t lost his head when they were in a firefight on Tyrakos. But war? That’s what they were aiming at here. Bringing order never meant knocking politely on the old government’s door and having that power step aside gracefully. Even the old Republic, while seeming to do that for the cracking crysalis of the Empire, did it against the background of the Clone Wars. Ben had a hundred questions, as always, but he wasn’t ready to ask them of Arrik Hux, Armitage Hux, when he was standing among his fanatics.

When called on, one of the graduates stood up. She kept her chin at a sharp angle, pale hair pulled back in a simple, efficient style. Ben watched her curiously; this was not the type of girl who would sneak off to a loading bay with him.

“Sir, it’s an honor to have you speak at our commencement. Command of a Star Destroyer is an achievement we all strive toward.” Her voice was clipped, and Ben couldn’t place the accent. He also knew a suck up when he saw one. “During the command of your first ship, you dealt with the Jiringo drug cartel’s grip on the systems of the Mos. What would you say was your greatest challenge at that time?”

Ben frowned to himself. She was talking about places he didn’t even know. Who were the Jiringo cartel? Where in the hells was ‘the Mos’? They had to be Unknown Region issues. The places Hux had hinted they’d already subdued. Not subdued. Brought to order. He looked up to watch Hux again.

Hux watched her intently as she spoke, crossing his arms. The Jiringo cartel had taken the better part of a year to fully pry out of the Mos system.

“Loyalty,” Hux said, after only a few second’s pause. “The sentients in the Mos system protected the Jiringo cartel just as much as they feared them. We had to show the sentients that we weren’t just trying to take their place and re-institute an even more distant feudal regime.

“The Mos planets Qotar and Ugantu served as subordinate planets, the sentients and people on the surface paying giant tithes and taxes to the ruling class that lived only on the large moon Acriuq.

“We realized that they wanted to protect the drug cartel, which was no less violent or severe than the rule of the Acrii, because the cartel allowed them a system of value based on merit rather than birth. Eliminating the Jiringo became stunningly political rather than a matter of force. We had to find a way to get their loyalty and elevate them at the same time. By establishing stormtrooper facilities and a merit-based structure within our own mines and ports on the system, we demonstrated that we weren’t just different from the nobility or the cartel, we were better. Fair.” Hux shrugged, looking over the cadets. “The station on Qotar will produce its first section of troopers in three years. And they will be absolutely loyal to us.”

The applause that followed Hux’s firm statement filled the room; it wasn’t as raucous as the troopers cheering during sparring matches, but it was excited, enthusiastic. The cadet who’d asked finally smiled, watching Hux with such obvious hero worship that Ben could feel it from where he was sitting. Forty other hands shot up from the audience.

Hux smiled, only slightly, more for show than because he was truly pleased, and nodded. He pointed out another cadet, this one with a slightly bluish tinge to his skin that wasn’t because he was unwell. The cadet popped up out of his seat, bright green eyes wide in his thin face.

“General Hux.” He nodded slightly as though stopping himself from bowing fully. “Do you feel that much of what you have accomplished was done for the honor and legacy of your father, Commandant Brendol Hux?”

Hux’s eyebrows went up incrementally, but his face didn’t change otherwise. He could never stay on Arkanis for long. Despite his long list of exploits and his own capabilities, he was always reduced to his father’s son. Armitage had been the one to set school records, ascend the ranks faster than any other his age, defend the First Order against all challengers while Brendol had stayed here on this rainy dredge of a planet, rotting in the garden.

“I feel that I have accomplished much for the First Order. That has always been my priority, above anything else. My father’s legacy is this fine Academy.” He paused, and there was no trace of a smile or a joke as he stared at the part-Falleen cadet. “My legacy will be the First Order.”

The applause was different this time; it didn’t have the raw exuberance of earlier. There was a hushed respect, the sense of those in the room that they were witnessing history. Through the muted and proud feelings in the room, there was another that shot through it, harsh and furious. It was lightning in the clouds. Ben looked away from the satisfied cadets to where Hux stood at the front of the room. Anger. Pure, undiluted rage.

There was a sea of hands up now. More than questions, they wanted validation. Each cadet wanted to be the one singled out by the general, noticed, not just a face but an individual. Ben sat back again, eyes on Hux as though he couldn’t pull away from the anger.

To his credit, Arrik Hux made no outwards indication of his outrage, and he took a few steps to the right, looking over the crowd carefully. His gaze settled on another young man, making eye contact with the aspiring officer and pausing for a second.

“You are the cadet who ordered an emergency eject during a TIE squad technical,” he said, watching the young man as he stood up and saluted. He was broad shouldered but skinny, like he hadn’t quite grown all the way into his stature. “The report said you not only saved your life but the lives of five of your classmates.”

The cadet’s dark eyes were wide and he nodded once, hands behind his back. “Yes, sir.” He seemed almost awed by the fact that Hux had recognized him among the crowd. When Hux didn’t immediately respond, he took it as an indication to explain further. “We were using older models, and the service updates hadn’t been installed properly, so the technical repair had been mismanaged as well. I noticed the squad’s turns getting progressively worse before I understood what was happening.”

Hux nodded appreciatively, and the young man seemed to grow into his frame a little more. “Very good, cadet. What question did you have?”

“We heard an account of Republican ships on the outskirts of the Outer Rim interfering with one of our supply runs. Does this mean that the Senate has chosen to take some action against the First Order?”

Ben frowned and glanced between the cadet and Hux. As far as he knew, the Senate came very close to denying the very existence of the First Order.

Hux almost smiled again, hands behind his back.

“That’s very nearly classified information cadet,” he said, and his tone was about as close to kind as it had ever gotten, more accommodating than anything else. “However, I will commend you for keeping up on intergalactic politics, even stuck out here.”

There was some laughter from the room and Hux made a quieting gesture.

“The question has merit. No endorsed Republican ships have interfered with our work. A few ships who later identified themselves as members of the Resistance, a rather defeasible and paltry collection of dissidents, did make an attempt to intercept our ships, but they were taken care of. I’ve no doubt that the so-called Resistance is just another outcropping of Republican Populists who have become so tied up in their own red tape that they’ve decided to play vigilante-hero without understanding the rightful authority we have.”

Ben crossed his arms over his chest again, frown deepening. He’d heard rumors of the Resistance, a group choosing to set themselves up in opposition to the First Order. There was, he had on some private family authority, a motion before the Senate to legitimize and (he assumed) limit them. But he hadn’t heard of any actual engagements between the two groups. He was annoyed with himself for not having that information first. Either as a man who traveled extensively or as someone whose mother was not only in the Senate, but had a serious bone to pick with the emerging First Order.

Emerging. That was political talk. The First Order wasn’t emerging at all, Ben thought. This wasn’t the first class of graduates. They were already here.

The cadet was satisfied with the answer and nodded his thanks to the general. Another cadet spoke up from the other side of the room without being called on. Ben looked over at her quickly.

“Will the Resistance be dealt with immediately, sir? And if so, will we do so with ships or by approaching the Senate?” Her voice was harsh as she forced Basic words through vocal cords not meant for them. Ben felt his eyebrows rise as all attention shifted back to Hux.

Hux frowned, obviously not pleased by the interruption. He held the cadet’s gaze for a few seconds longer, and then nodded.

“We have our military liaison on Hosnian Prime has heard our concerns, but they have not been addressed by any motion. Until we receive an answer from the Senate, which could take decades at their pace, we will continue to treat anyone who attacks us as hostile combatants. Resistance or otherwise. Currently they are a small concern.”

Ben rolled his shoulders and shifted in his chair, then looked down at his hands in his lap. Maybe they were all closer to a war than anyone thought they were. The cadet who’d brought up the question nodded sharply and sat back.

“In the future, cadet, you should wait to be recognized.” Hux’s voice rang out, sharp and absolute. His gaze snapped back to the young sentient, and she set her jaw, swallowing, and nodded once. Ben smiled a little and kept his face down to hide it. If there was one thing Hux did right, it was authority. And with most people, it worked. He licked his lips and brushed one finger over the side of his nose as he looked up again, expression under control.

Hux watched her for a few more seconds, and she ducked her head, obviously embarrassed. He didn’t make any other noise or gesture, and looked around the rest of the classroom.

“Do we have any more questions?”

This time, the hands stayed down. Ben was tempted, so very tempted, to raise his, but he’d promised to be on his best behavior. He watched Hux expectantly instead as the room waited in respectful quiet.

Hux made a noise of displeasure, eyebrows up.

“I have ten more minutes, cadets, You may have heard the rumors regarding my opinion on schedules.” It was almost a joke, again. Hux seemed to skirt the edge of amusement with these new officers more than usual. Ben could tell that they adored him for it. A few hands were immediately raised in the air, then more followed suit. Nobody wanted to be shown up in their eagerness to please him.

Looking over the future officers, Hux nodded. He pointed at another cadet, gesturing for her to stand.

“Cadet.”

The cadet rose to her feet, entire body at attention. Even her posture displayed her total dedication.

“Sir, during my last course study here at the Academy, I have been analyzing your tactics employing TIE Starfighters in the disturbances that erupted by Loma V. In that instance, you took control of the TIE control deck directly. What caused you to make that decision, sir?” Her voice was all respect, all eagerness. Ben knew that voice. She wasn’t just dedicated to the First Order. This was a person dedicated to General Hux himself.

Hux made a thoughtful noise, breathing in deeply through his nose, shifting to put his hands behind his back.

“It was a complicated engagement. We had taken losses, and there was a commander on the starfighter bridge who was holding back pilots as a last line of defence. It was protocol, but the commander didn’t have the advantage of the bridge.” He went to his pad and pulled up Loma and its surrounding moons, sending it quickly to the display screen behind him. “As you can see, the many moons and bordering asteroid ring make it difficult to see the full field of battle.”

He gestured again, walking in front of the screen. “I had seen that the attacks hadn’t been coming in waves, but in a direct formation. It would have been difficult to see from the control deck, even with the information stream. Holding back our pilots wasn’t creating a defensive position, it was keeping us just weak enough to encourage the Lomesh fighters.”

Turning back to his pad, he drew a triangle, indicating the _Finalizer_ , and then a line indicating the enemy fighters in between two of the moons.

“It wasn’t a decision made lightly; the commander was following protocol, but it was not effective. I had to take control in order to create the tactical advantage we needed.”

The young cadet raised her hand again and Hux nodded, allowing her to continue.

“Sir, the records were mostly factual, and there were no real reports of how you actually managed to overwhelm the Lomesh forces, just that...you did. Can you give us some insight on the exact tactics?”

Hux smirked a little, eyebrows up. He nodded once, turning back to look at the screen. “I turned the _Finalizer_ on its side, exposing the ship to the enemy forces.”

The room was silent, confused. The underside of a Star Destroyer was notorious for having a weak shielding system. It was made up for with the ion cannons and massive proto-gunner stations, but purposefully turning a Destroyer so that its weakest part faced the enemy was unheard of.

“At the same time, I took over the command center and had every pilot prepare for deployment, while any other starfighter already engaged pulled back. I over-rode the repulsor systems from the bridge, and allowed the annihilation reactor to idle, making it appear to all systems and tech the Lomesh possessed that the _Finalizer_ was experiencing failure. All attacks from the the Star Destroyer ceased, and I sent the idle power to the shields.”

The room seemed incredibly tense. This was a new way of fighting with Destroyers, not the kind of hammer that the Empire seemed so fond of; this was more than just absent force, this was application and strategy adjusted to a wicked point. Ben sat up in his chair and leaned forward, focused on Hux just as intently as any hero worshiping cadet.

“So the Lomesh attacked, all of their forces, every fighter, they came out from the moons in waves, thinking that they had us.” He drew on the pad and then turned back to the room.

“However, after we took a single blast to our port side, I gave the order. Every starfighter on the ship flew out, the TIEs already deployed turned back, and the time it had taken for the Lomesh to get close allowed our guns to recharge, so the assault was...unassailable.” Hux shrugged, as if this were just another dejarik opponent he had managed to stay two moves ahead of. “As you read, cadet, we emerged the victor, and accepted the surrender of Loma V shortly after.”

The cadet was slightly flushed when the general finished and turned his head back to her. She nodded quickly, eyes flicking between the screen and Hux’s face.

“It was a masterful maneuver, sir. One I’m sure cadets will be studying long into the future.” She sat down again, hands folded on her lap. In his seat, Ben made a quiet noise to himself. So the general did have some tactical experience. He didn’t know anything about Loma V personally; he’d never even heard of it before, so he couldn’t judge how difficult a fight that should have been. But he had studied the Clone Wars and he had grown up hearing stories about the Rebel Alliance’s final routing of the Galactic Empire. These were not textbook tactics. This was a man who wanted to be studied and remembered. His name. Ben’s finger traced letters on his knee, the letters of a claim even in a children’s book. A HUX. The creation outstripping his creator.

Hux looked over the cadets, and he couldn’t help but feel proud. This was a story that they would whisper to the underclassmen, making the Loma V conflict something that the younger cadets aspired to.

“Thank you, cadet. It’s not a maneuver I would recommend,” he said, smirking slightly. “However effective it turned out to be.”

Ben raised his hand, tipping his chin up slightly.

The general paused as he looked over at Ben, and he held his gaze for a few seconds. It was an expression that said, quite clearly, _do not embarrass me_. He nodded once, gesturing.

“Captain Solo.”

“That’s a pretty neat trick there, general.” Ben shifted in his seat to sit up fully. “Is there a report we could get our hands on that would give all the specifics, including TIE tactics?” It was an apology for earlier, a sign of respect and some public praise.

Hux watched him for a few seconds more before nodding once.

“That can be arranged.” He smiled slightly, looking over the cadet group. “If you all would appreciate that sort of thing.” There was a general murmur of excited assent through the room and Ben let himself slouch in the uncomfortable chair again. Mission accomplished.

“Thanks, general,” he said over the quiet whispers of the cadets. “I always appreciate exposure to new techniques.” He winked at Hux, knowing the other man would see it but none of the cadets would.

Hux didn’t respond to the wink, but moved on.

“You’ll find the full records available within the week, including pilot reports.” He went over to the lectern, turning off his datapad as he addressed the group again. “Last question.”

At least fifty hands were up, each cadet praying they’d be the one chosen. Ben sat back with his arms crossed over his chest again, self-satisfied smirk on his face.

Hux took a deep breath in through his nose, looking over the men and women carefully, cold blue eyes flicking over the sentients. He picked out a young woman who had shockingly bright red hair that was not quite human, which was probably why she adopted one of the men’s approved hairstyles, hair shorn close on the sides. She stood up with a slight hesitance, but her voice was clear when she spoke.

“Thank you for overseeing our commencement, General Hux. It is a great honor for all of us to have you here today.” Her speech was very formal, each word careful and distinct. “As we set our sights on aspirations guided by the things you have done, I would like to ask if you will tell us what has been your inspiration. What do you do to be as strong as you can be?”

Hux paused for a second, frowning slightly.

“Becoming strong is not a matter of waking up and deciding to be strong. It’s practice. Every day. Constant, unwavering dedication to the cause, to yourself.” Hux’s voice didn’t hesitate or soften. “There is a larger purpose; the mission of the First Order must become your mission, your ultimate inspiration.”

Ben watched Hux carefully as his dedication illuminated his face. These weren’t just the types of words someone tossed at a group of students, words taken from a thousand year old text that sounded good because someone important had said them. The general’s eyes were as cold as ever, but blue ice was only half of it. When Ben did his flame trick, he could feel (somehow) the intensity of the blue flames, the origin of ignition, the combustion. Hux had fire eyes. Of course his loyalty to the First Order was absolute; he was an acolyte, he was a high priest to their leader. But Ben didn’t miss the one part of that speech that hadn’t been about the First Order.

The part about dedication to yourself. To the constant self-improvement that Hux set himself to. Better ideas, better battles, a better Empire. Arrik Hux was dedicated to making himself the better man.

The cadet’s dark eyes reflected back some of Hux’s devotion as she saluted him. As though this was a pre-decided signal, the rest of the class rose to their feet and their arms snapped up into the First Order salute.

Hux’s face was fierce, his intensity was magnetic.

“You must march ever forward, strive for greater, be better. The individual is only as strong as the collective, and without the perfect individual the collective is nothing but a chain of weak links, easily pulled apart. Temper yourselves against stagnation, and always, always endeavor for more.” Hux’s voice rose slightly, and the entire room seemed to hold its collective breath. “The First Order starts with you. The First Order ends with you.”

The cadets remained in their stiff salute, backs straight and eyes filled with almost religious fervor. Ben, still seated, looked around the room after Hux had stopped speaking. The air was electric and the pressure was still building; it was suddenly a lot for him, pressing in around him, that strong of an emotion that was all intensity and love and hatred and pride and righteousness. He swallowed and looked through the space between rows of cadets to find Hux, firmer and stiffer and more determined than any of them. A clone trying to break off the remaining clay of his mold or a man free of whatever still twisted in the walls of that house?

Hux took his datapad from the podium and raised his hand to salute the cadets.

“I know that you will do the First Order proud.” He began to walk up the steps, towards Ben. The cadets watched him, applauding as he went up the steps. He glanced over at Ben and nodded, passing him as he walked out of the large seminar hall. Ben swore under his breath and hopped up a second later, sliding his way past the enthusiastic cadets between his seat and the walkway.

He pushed through the door a few minutes later, looking around for the general. The rain had started up again and he made sure to stay beneath the small overhang. The smuggler made an annoyed noise, then caught the bitter smoke of some cheap cigarette. He followed the smell around the corner of the building and saw Hux down a bit, leaning against the grey concrete and smoking as though he had no schedule to keep. He watched the man lean his head back to exhale a plume of smoke at the grey sky, sending another cloud upward. For that moment, his throat was exposed past the stiff collar of his uniform.

Ben gestured with his fingers, the Force sending a rock skipping into the side of the building. He was smiling when Hux looked over.

“That was one hell of a speech there, general,” he commented, taking a few steps closer. “Not going to lie, though. When she introduced ‘Armitage,’ I was expecting your...I don’t know. Brother? Evil clone?” Ben watched the side of Hux’s face, waiting to be acknowledged.

Hux looked over at him, taking another drag on the cigarette, the last of the leaf he had pulled off the pack the Bothan had on Tyrakos. He shrugged, looking upwards as he exhaled, smoke drifting upwards and blending into the sky almost immediately.

“Armitage is the name my father gave me.” He spoke quietly, more subdued outside of the classroom, barely murmuring. He shifted a little, holding the cig with two fingers and offering it to Ben. “The speech is what they needed to hear.”

Ben closed the distance between them and accepted the cigarette, nodding to Hux.

“Is that what you say to every graduating class?” he teased, leaning back against the wall beside the general as he inhaled a lungful of smoke. Nothing quite like cheap cigs; these tasted like bark.

“It changes,” Hux muttered, closing his eyes and leaning his head back against the cold metal wall. He took a deep breath, shoulders hunching slightly as he heard the cadets exit the seminar. Standing straighter, he pulled on Ben’s elbow, further behind the building. “They won’t come this way.”

Ben laughed a little as he let Hux pull him further out of sight. It felt like some rendezvous from his younger days. Okay, fine, he’d done things like this within the last year, and they tended to end with someone pressed against a wall. Good times.

“Are we hiding from your adoring audience?” he asked before taking another drag on the cigarette.

“We are,” Hux said quietly, plucking the cigarette from Ben’s hand and inhaling. “They’re very eager.”

“To do what?” Ben asked, voice dropping to match Hux’s volume. “Rip your clothes off and make sweet love to you?”

“Some would, I’m sure.” Hux took another drag, closing his eyes and shrugging. “Some days I can handle it.”

Ben laughed and leaned against the wall again, stretching his arms over his head. Between the cig and the chill air and hiding like a couple of teenagers, the tension that had built up in the hall had evaporated and he felt like himself again.

“Fair enough.” He held his hand out. “Let me have another puff of that, huh?”

Hux hummed, passing the stub over to him. “Finish it.”

“Mm...that I can do,” Ben said as he accepted the cigarette. He blew smoke out his nose from the last drag, then held up the butt. “Can I drop this? Will I be arrested? Can we blame it on a cadet?”

“The weather fields are turned off after curfew, it’ll wash away.” Hux stood up, walking around Ben to look out along the walkway. The cadets still had schedules to follow, final assignments and debriefings. A few had to practice their demos in a few hours, which meant the area had been cleared of anyone else in uniform.

Ben made a noise and dropped the stub, grinding it out beneath his boot before walking over to stand next to Hux.

“I meant it,” he said after a second. “I would like to read a report about that maneuver. I think that would be good in your library. Hells...give it twenty years, and they might name the maneuver after you. Kids will be studying the Hux maneuver and trying to get in your head, trying to figure out your decisions.”

The general glanced at Ben and shrugged before stepping out under the walkway, heading in the direction of the mansion. “I hope they wouldn’t try the same thing. I had some key advantages.”

“That’s not what…” Ben rolled his eyes, catching up with Hux and falling into step beside him. “Anyway, it was still smart. That’s all. Are we catching up with Phasma at the house?”

“Phasma is still overseeing some of our gifted recruits,” he explained, rather pleased with the compliment. “I was planning to meet her at the exhibition tonight.”

“What sort of exhibition? Ships? Armor?” The big displays were impressive to the smuggler. Their precision, the advanced tech, the grandeur of the old galaxy in the forms and shapes and colors.

“Ships, mostly, the pilot demonstration.”

“Am I...invited?” Ben asked cautiously, desperately wanting the answer to be yes.

“Of course,” Hux said, looking over at him. “You’re my guest.”

Ben grinned back at him with the eagerness of a child, making no attempt to hide it.

“Great! That sounds great.” He looked up as the house loomed larger. It wasn’t welcoming the way a home should be (not that his family had ever had a house like this). It was waiting. He found himself chilled for a moment, eyes drawn up to the window he’d seen the little face in last time. But the windows seemed black and opaque at this time of day and it was easier to let the smile return to his face as he looked to Hux. “Do you think I could borrow a clean shirt?”

“Of course,” Hux repeated as he walked through the front garden. Every time he came back to this place he felt more and more disgusted by it. It was tolerable for the first day or so he returned, but as he continued to walk back after every excursion he just felt the revulsion rise up.

“I keep some civilian clothes. We’re around the same build,” Hux glanced over at Ben, eyebrows up. He turned, taking off his greatcoat as he walked up the stairs to the third floor.

“Well, I don’t know about that. My shoulders are definitely broader. Better developed. More muscular.” Ben reached over to touch a strange dark knot in the wood of one of the pillars in the main hall, then frowned as he pulled his hand back. There was no dark spot where his finger had been. He shook his head and walked after Hux, jogging up the stairs to catch up.

“I suppose your torso is abnormally long,” Hux muttered over at him as he walked up the stairs. He continued through the third floor toward his room. “Perhaps my eye was off.”

Ben laughed as he walked beside Hux, shrugging when they got to the hall where they separated; his room was to the right. He wasn’t entirely sure where Hux’s room was.

“Well, at least give me a try. For the sake of my abnormally long...what was it? Oh, right, torso. Abnormally long torso.” He pointed with both index fingers down the hall toward his room. “Right, so I’m this way. Call me when you...well, I’m sure there’s a datapad in there somewhere, but I haven’t found it yet. And you don’t have comm panels in half these rooms! I’m going to guess that they’re either omitted for aesthetic reasons or they’re hidden and I just can’t find them.”

Hux frowned and shook his head.

“You can just come with me. That was one of your conditions weeks ago. New clothes. I know you’re picky.” Hux turned a little, gesturing. “This way.”

He walked down the hall, continuing towards the back of the house where his wing occupied the entire west end of the floor. Ben looked around curiously, flashing back to when he’d first boarded the _Finalizer_ and had followed the general to the commander’s berths. Then, Hux’s boots had echoed with his command and ownership of the space; the lines of the ship were clean and polished like his uniform and his hair and his confidence. Here, the carpets swallowed the sound of their steps and Hux’s greatcoat seemed to weigh heavily on his shoulders. Ben looked behind him quickly, frowning. There was someone else in the house with them. He felt it; the Force was irritated by the movement. He’d been certain someone was about to grab his shoulder, but there was no one behind him. The house was empty except for the general and himself. He took a deep breath and lessened the distance between Hux and himself as he followed him to his wing.

“I can’t get over how big it is here! Are the Huxes usually a big family? Lots of kids?” He needed to talk; it pushed back whatever else he was feeling.

Hux didn’t answer immediately, a spike of something like regret and intense sadness. It was old, ingrained, something that he had felt since he could remember feeling anything. He shook his head. “There’s just me,” Hux said, shrugging as he continued through. He got to his wing and gestured and the two doors slid open. They opened onto a sitting area, with a large computer in one corner and a small library in another the books resting on clear glass panes. There was another garden wall, herbs and plants flowering brightly as they hung down, making the berth smell of something earthy and slightly floral. A pair of glass doors opened onto a balcony, dry even under the Arkanis rain. The roof was tall, with beams going across, and instead of a digital sunroof the ceiling was made of a misty glass that made the room seem dappled.

Overall, it was not the sparse, cold cell that Ben had been imagining. Logically he’d known it would suit the rest of the house with its rare woods. But the green on the garden wall was a continued surprise; he wasn’t sure what plants were there, but the herbal scent of them perfumed the air and made it restful. He looked up and watched the rain on the glass. Real rain, the actual Arkanis sky falling above them as they stood there in the center of the room. He smiled slightly as he inhaled, the breath deep and full of green. For a second, the room felt safe as the library downstairs. But there was something underneath it all, something dark that choked him at the end of his inhalation and he cleared his throat before he looked over at the general.

“This is nice. I’m guessing you did a lot of work in here, huh?” he asked in a relaxed tone.

“You can imagine the sort of suite this was when my parents occupied it,” Hux said, taking off his greatcoat and tossing it over the couch, a casual gesture that was much less controlled than most of his expressions on the _Finalizer_.

Ben took his hands out of his pockets and spread his arms. “It’s huge! I imagine it sort of looking like the dining room, but with a bed?” He laughed and turned to look around again, then walked over to the bookshelf to see what the general had chosen to bring up to his private quarters with him. There were few surprises; history texts, a few diaries of old generals that were published after their major battles had long passed, an account of a sniper from a conflict not long ago. The only fiction sat on the bottom shelf, a series of twelve books detailing the adventures of a ship’s captain and his crew as they began charting and exploring the Unknown Regions, set in some far away time. Ben grinned as he crouched to look at the bottom shelf; the spines of the books each had a different picture and it was hard not to be curious. He pulled one of the books out carefully and flipped it open. As a kid, he’d have devoured these books, he thought to himself. Hells, he’d read them now. He looked up at the general.

“So these are your favorites huh? The ones that are too good to be downstairs?” He grinned as he looked down to put the volume back before standing up again.

“They’re an old set,” Hux muttered, almost embarrassed that he had been found out reading something that had no real merit. “One of the visiting generals...or someone, I actually forget who, he gave it to me when he was visiting my father.” Hux shrugged and gestured. “Take them, if you want them. I have digital copies.”

Ben made a hesitating noise, then crouched again to pull the first volume from the shelf.

“I mean...it’s easy reading, right? It might be nice before bed.” He ran his palm over the cover. The set must have been an exciting gift to a child, printed books to make old adventures feel that much more real. He looked over at Hux as he rose to his feet again. “There were these books my mom had on a datapad for me when I was a kid, whenever I was staying with her. I probably read the whole series six times, and there were a bunch of them!” He laughed. “They were about...oh, what was his name...oh! Whistling Captain Bonto. He was a pirate of sorts, but I mean...he was mostly finding secret places and rescuing people. My mom had read them when she was a girl. The captain’s sister was her favorite. She was this fencing champion who disapproved of her brother’s pirate lifestyle but basically stepped in to save his ass all the time. Did you read those?”

Hux shook his head, eyebrows up. “Sounds...like a good story for a smuggler’s child.” His tone wasn’t biting or particularly unkind.

Ben smiled and looked back down at the book in his hand. Books felt so weird, when you thought about it. The data was so static inside, so easily destroyed. “Are you calling my grandfather Organa a smuggler?”

“You don’t have a grandfather Organa.” Hux replied, looking confused.

“Well, I never actually met him,” Ben corrected, “But he’s the one who introduced my mother to those books in the first place, knowing they’d get her into fencing.” Ben was constantly aware of what a messy affair his family was. He had so many aunts and uncles who weren’t even the same species he was. He had grandparents who’d killed other grandparents, who he wasn’t related to by blood. He didn’t even know who some relatives were, and yet they were all family, even all the Jedi who’d died before he was even born.

Hux took a deep breath, eyebrows up. He was trying to process all of this, and wasn’t entirely prepared for the fact that he felt rather exposed with Ben in his private rooms. He hadn’t expected this, but thinking back, Ben had never been in his own berth on the _Finalizer_.

“Your mother fences?” he asked, walking around the large lounge again, hesitant for a second before realizing how incredibly stupid he must seem, hesitant in his own rooms, in his Academy, on a planet the Huxes had been living on for generations. Old, old old, and he didn’t belong.

“Of course she did. That was the polite side of her hand-to-hand combat training, what they could use to explain how strong the little princess was. You can’t exactly tell the populace she’s also shooting blasters and learning the finer points of espionage.” Ben grinned, proud of his mother as always. “She’s kind of gotten out of practice though, electro-foils and staves. Evaan has lots of opinions about that, every time Mom brings it up.”

“Did you ever pick it up?” Hux asked, and as he walked over, his bedroom doors opened with a soft hiss. He went into his personal suite, obviously expecting Ben to follow him. The room was huge, with a ceiling that mirrored the other room, but it seemed to be layered in such a way that it felt as if the room opened up to the sky itself. The floors were wood, but worn down, sanded and stained to make them a soft, pale tan color. The bed was large, crisply made, with navy blue accents and more pillows than anyone would expect General Hux to have, obviously meant for aesthetics rather than serving any kind of purpose. Ben wanted to run and leap onto the bed, but he figured that would be misinterpreted and not well received.

Hux walked in, back straight, eyes ahead, and gestured absently at the two high backed chairs tucked into a corner, obviously offering the seat to Ben as he opened the frosted glass doors to his walk- in closet. The chairs were, sadly, a better option than the bed; Ben walked over to sit down, slouching immediately with a habitual slide.

“Mm...I did a bit of it, but it’s not my best sword style.” Ben smiled a little and crossed his arms as he watched Hux. “I was pretty young when I started training with my uncle, and lightsaber technique is different. The weapon’s completely different.”

“I’ve watched vids,” Hux responded as he came back out, three shirts on hangers in his hands. Ben sat up, curious to see what clothing the general had chosen for him to try. He guessed they were all uniform shirts. He probably just had a closet full of uniforms, identical rows of crisp shirts and dark jackets all the way back to the far wall, with gleaming pairs of black boots standing at attention below them.

“Vids from the Clone Wars?” he asked as Hux came closer.

“Some older,” Hux said, laying the shirts out on the bed. Despite Ben’s suspicions, they weren’t all uniforms; one had a striped pattern running at an angle, another was a heathered red that had a few different colors of paint splattered and smudged across it. “These might fit.”

Ben took that as his cue to walk over. He made a noise, gravitating toward the red shirt. He picked up the hanger and looked it over, then nodded.

“Yeah, this is nice.” He smiled over at the other man. “Not going to lie, I expected them to all match.” He set the shirt down on the bed again to pull his jacket off. He dropped it on the floor, then started unbuttoning his shirt along the asymmetric line down the front. “Are these the shirts you take on your short, rare vacations?” He let the shirt fall onto the jacket.

“Some were left behind,” Hux said, resisting the urge to roll his eyes. Ben paused as he reached for the shirt, looking over at Hux.

“This...is this your father’s shirt?” His voice was suddenly quieter, as though he was trying not to let anyone else hear him.

Hux frowned, looking over at Ben. The fact that the smuggler had shed his clothes didn’t bother him in the slightest. “No,” he said, almost as if he thought Ben were stupid to even suggest something like that. “Visitors leave clothes behind.”

That didn’t make any more sense, but Ben felt immensely relieved. He picked up the shirt and tossed the hanger back onto the bed. He pulled the shirt over his shoulders and nodded to himself; it tugged but seemed to fit well enough.

“This works,” he said, looking down to button the front. “Does it suit me? Be honest, do I look good?” He looked up with a wide grin, smoothing his hands down his front.

Hux looked Ben up and down and then shrugged. “It does fit better than I expected.”

“Good enough!” Ben crouched down to pick up his jacket and black shirt. It had been washed and mended on the _Finalizer_ , but the old piece of clothing was approaching the point where his mother would have told him ‘washing’s not going to help it anymore, Ben, just burn it.’

“I’m ready to go whenever you are.” He paused, then unbuckled his holster. “You know, maybe I’ll leave this here too.” He held it with his shirt in one hand, then grabbed the book in the other. “Meet you at the door, sweet cheeks. Thanks for the costume change.”

Hux made a dismissive gesture, turning away from Ben to go towards another door that led to his en-suite bathroom. “The demonstration is in a few hours. You may do whatever you’d like with your spare time.”

“I’ll probably read over some of those war journals.” That was a lie; Ben’s plans were to go to the guest suite and lounge on the bed, reading the adventure book he was carrying and eating the food he’d scrounged from the breakfast table and still had in his bag. “Catch you later.” He watched Hux’s straight back for another minute, then walked back through the outer room. He paused once to touch one of the plants on the growing wall. The fronded leaves pulled back from his finger’s pressure and closed in on themselves. Ben made a noise to himself, eyes thoughtful, then headed out toward his rooms.

Hux watched him turn, but didn’t respond. He went into his bathroom and locked the door, quickly stripping down and getting under the shower. He needed the water to be so hot that it turned his skin red in seconds. At least in his own rooms he felt like he had erased all traces of his father from Arkanis. The suite had been completely redone following his father’s disappearance. His mother had been gone for years, and hadn’t used this suite for years before that, moving downstairs when she fell ill.

Arkanis Academy, this manor, it haunted him. There were still so many memories embedded in this place that drew up emotions he never wanted to feel again. Every time he came here he was nearly overcome with disgust.

The water fell over Arrik’s back, and he suddenly felt as if it was the only thing keeping his feelings down. He pressed his hands against the wall, fingertips curling against the tile as he set his jaw, and the ache inside him seemed overpowering. He had been fighting against this house, against his family, since he knew what it meant to fight. He was just tired.

There were a dozen things he needed to do, a hundred more projects that he was sure he could jump into, and as the young man stood up straight again, he was already planning his distractions. He would work, watch the exhibition, and then sleep. Maybe tomorrow he’d feel some kind of whole again.

* * *

 “Okay, but what I’m saying is that there has to be a record somewhere for greatest number of controlled spins in a TIE, and I think that guy...HN-10...something something, whatever, you know who I mean, he had to break it. Or just about.” Ben had greatly enjoyed the airshow, and walking back to the general’s mansion, he’d barely paused to breathe in his enthusiastic opinions about the whole thing. Hux had managed to put on a face that imitated a smile for the cadets, but it hadn’t stuck around for long.

“I want to know what the record is, because I intend to break it.” Ben walked faster when he was excited; when he got ahead of Hux and Phasma in the throng of cadets and troopers heading back to barracks, he turned around to walk backwards so he could continue to talk to them directly. He didn’t bump into anything or anyone-- the Force was a great thing sometimes.

A group of three cadets eyed him curiously as they walked beside them, one of them turning to whisper to the others. While the entire crew of the _Finalizer_ had known who Ben Solo was, Arkanis Academy had not been informed.

Ben pointed at Phasma, whose armor caught all the lights of the Academy as they walked and made her almost difficult to look at.

“Which ship did you like best?” he demanded with a grin. “Like, which maneuver?”

Phasma shrugged, a gesture barely shown underneath her armor. “The triple helix with the coordinated dive drag out.”

Ben made an appreciative noise as though he’d just tasted something he liked, nodding his agreement with her.

“That was nice, that was nice.” He pointed at Hux next. “And you, sw...general, which was your favorite?”

Hux’s eyebrows shot up for a second, almost a warning. Ben was way too comfortable with this situation.

“I always appreciate the technical ability required of the tight formations. It requires trust, practice and absolute focus,” he answered, smiling very slightly at Ben with his hands behind his back.

“Another good move, another good point,” Ben said, turning to walk forward for a few seconds. Thinking of another high point of the evening, he spun back to face them again. “Also, when those five TIEs launched together, that was perfect timing. Like, it was perfect, and then they went right into-”

Ben cut himself off and turned his head, nearly colliding with two troopers coming back from their patrol. He stopped walking as they swerved to avoid him, nodding to Phasma and Hux as they went past. The smuggler continued to watch them. Their white-armored backs were identical, but he could feel the difference between them. The one on the right was like every other trooper to him. The stormtrooper on the left. Ben licked his lips. That trooper was casting out with the Force without even knowing it, using it naturally as he kept watch.

He hadn’t expected to find any other Force sensitive people. Knowing the First Order’s application of the Empire’s ideals, he assumed they’d avoided them. He was still just standing in the walkway as Hux and Phasma caught up.

Hux watched Ben’s expression change as the troopers passed, and while Hux glanced over at them, he could find nothing that would make them so interesting at first, or even second look. He looked over as he and Phasma caught up to Ben.

“What is it?”

Ben licked his lips, seemingly suddenly deflated as he stood there. He blinked hard and looked away from the retreating stormtrooper.

“Ben?”

The smuggler shook his head and made a contemplative noise, looking over at Hux.

“Sorry, I just thought I…” He grasped for an explanation. “Recognized someone.”

Hux’s frown deepened. “You thought you recognized a helmeted stormtrooper?” he asked, obvious confusion in his voice.

It hadn’t been the correct word choice, but he wasn’t sure what would be. Ben gestured a little helplessly.

“No...I mean, obviously, I couldn’t like...that.” He glanced in the direction the stormtroopers had last been, but the Force sensitive one was long gone and his ability was too weak to make it something Ben knew how to track from far away. “I could...feel it.”

The expression on Hux’s face didn’t change, and they turned down the walk towards the mansion, away from the imposing Academy building. “Feel what? Feel like you knew them?”

“Not that I…” Ben huffed and ran his hand through his hair. “Not like I knew them personally. Not like I knew his face. But I didn’t know you had any Force sensitives in your army.” There, he’d just come out and said it. It felt strange after he had, as though he’d shared something he shouldn’t have about someone else. But they had to know, right? Snoke would know if there were other Force sensitive people in his own ranks.

“I wasn’t joking when I said I wanted twenty of you,” Phasma said, and her tone was casual, even through the helmet. “Most of the Force sensitive troopers we get are just...a little better than the others. They aim truer, they think faster, they lead better.”

“We don’t have many sensitives, less than a dozen troopers at the academy, about five officers?” Hux shrugged. “They aren’t really utilized in any way. None come near to matching you. None even come close.”

Ben shook his head, still looking away. Over the course of his life, he hadn’t met many Force sensitive people. The ones he had tended to be very low level, like that; some of them didn’t really know themselves. There were none like him. None measured up to him. His face was immediately warm as he replayed Hux’s words in his head and really let himself hear them. _None even come close_.

“Well…” It was hard to speak again; all he could think of was what the general had said, how much he wanted to hear him say it again. “I...was trained,” he finished weakly. He took a deep breath and tried to let some of the tension out of his body.

“You say that as if it makes you less remarkable,” Hux said, glancing over at Ben, still frowning slightly.

There it was again, the praise he wanted to hear. He turned to catch Hux’s eyes for a second, but he couldn’t hold them.

“It’s not that. I’m just saying that I was trained.” The house was above them again; the few lit windows made it worse somehow. It made it seem like someone was waiting for them.

Hux shrugged but didn’t respond as they walked into the mansion. Phasma took her helmet off, nodded towards Ben, and muttered a ‘good night, Arrik’ before turning towards her wing.

Hux took a deep breath, looking over at Ben.

“You have a free day tomorrow. I’m in meetings for most of the day, and I believe Phasma has a few things to attend to as well. You can wander if you’d like,” he spoke as he walked up the steps, already shrugging off his greatcoat. “There’s not a lot going on. The cadets get about seven days of rest before they head off to their assignments.”

The house seemed colder than the air outside and Ben decided to leave his jacket on. He followed Hux, again staying close to him. He refused to look over his shoulder, even as the hair rose on the back of his neck.

“So what is there to do for fun around here? They get seven days of rest to do what?” he asked.

“There are some lounge facilities, gyms, libraries. They are allowed time to pursue their own interests.”

“I’ve been doing all that already,” Ben complained.

Hux shrugged, glancing over his shoulder as they continued up the steps. “You can wander the grounds. Test out some cannons, if you’re feeling trigger happy,” Hux said, smirking slightly. “You can look through the library, find the books you want to take with you.”

“Well, I do need to grab the second one of that series by your bed,” Ben said. “I finished up the first one with two minutes to spare before we left.” He made an annoyed noise when they got up to the top of the stairs. “Hey, are you going right to bed?”

Glancing over, Hux was slightly surprised. That series had been given to him when he was just about eleven or so, and he had studiously collected the books basically in secret for five years. It wasn’t really a child’s book, and Hux wasn't sure if he should be impressed by the way that Ben had devoured the novel.

“I...no, I’m not. I’m up for a few more hours at least.”

“Let’s have a drink! We won’t get ourselves into trouble, just a night cap.”

Hux sighed, but gestured Ben towards his suites. “I’m not sure that you can promise that.”

“We’ll be limited to one drink apiece.” Ben smiled as he walked with Hux.

“This is how it starts,” Hux muttered, and it was almost an amused comment as he walked back into the far end of the mansion. He gestured and the doors opened, “‘Just one drink, general, that’s all.’”

Ben laughed and walked into the other man’s suite ahead of him, walking straight to the bookshelf and crouching down in front of it. “Don’t be so jumpy. We’re in your house. You can just send me to bed.” He grinned as he pulled the second volume off the shelf. He didn’t need the next book yet. He didn’t need a drink. He just didn’t want to go to that room alone.

Hux paused for a few seconds, watching Ben before going over to the modest bar he kept near the library corner. These were his personal favorites, only three bottles, one mildly expensive liquor, another rare bottle of fruit wine and then a common Corellian whiskey that was nearly empty. He decided on the sweet cordial, pouring the two of them small glasses before walking over to Ben.

“Those were my favorite as a kid,” he offered quietly, eyes on Ben’s shoulders. The smuggler was still crouching, flipping through the book.

“Oh yeah?” Ben chuckled, closing the volume. He looked up at Hux and smiled. “I almost spoiled the ending for myself there.” He stood up, taking one of the glasses from the general. “Which book’s your favorite?”

Hux was frowning deeply. He shook his head, then took a sip of his drink and gestured vaguely.

“The fourth one.”

Ben glanced down at the bookshelf. “What’s that one about?”

“If I tell you, it’ll ruin the third one.” Hux took a step back, going over to sit in one of the chairs. “I haven't heard from the Knights. As far as I know they’re still supposed to come around within the next four days or so.”

Ben sipped his drink, then walked over to stand near the seated general. “Whenever they show up is fine. It’s not like I’m too busy.” What he wouldn’t admit was that he liked the pace, even if he didn’t really enjoy the planet. “Just think how much you’ll miss me though.” He laughed and looked down at Hux.

Hux made a noise of consideration, looking up at Ben. His eyes narrowed slightly and he shifted, sitting a little straighter. “I might,” he muttered, and when he spoke it was almost a challenge. He had his left elbow on one arm of the chair, the wrist draped over the other, fingers hanging down towards the ground. The general had given Ben free rein over his time, hadn’t tried to push him at all. He shifted to cross his legs, still watching Ben carefully.

“You definitely will,” Ben insisted, grinning as he took another sip. “Everything will be running too smoothly.” He looked down at him. The general seemed quiet, not so much cold as subdued.

“I usually don’t consider that a problem,” he said quietly, still looking up at Ben. “Did you want something from me?”

Ben shook his head. The room was pressing down on them, the dark sky overhead more oppressive at night.

“No...do you want me to take my drink back to my room?” Ben looked away as though giving Hux some privacy. “Do you need anything from me?”

“Not while you’re standing,” Hux muttered, taking another sip of the wine then tilting his head up a little further. He didn’t look away from Ben, voice soft, only a slight demand coloring his tone. Ben smiled a little, still turned away from the other man.

“Should I go take a seat?” he asked quietly.

Hux shrugged. “The floor is open.” His tone was that of suggestion, only slightly interested.

Ben stood in the quiet room for a second, weighing his options. The rain started up again and it seemed too loud. He held the glass up to his mouth but didn’t drink, just inhaled the air sweetened by the liquor. He could sit on the chair opposite Hux, finish his drink, and be sent to his room. He didn’t want to sleep. There had been other times in his life when he’d been afraid to close his eyes, and he recognized the feeling.

The smuggler took a step forward and sat down at Hux’s feet, hair just brushing the other man’s knee.

“Yeah,” he muttered before taking a drink. “These chairs look hard as rock anyway.”

Hux hummed his appreciation and shifted, uncrossing his legs as he looked down at Ben. He moved carefully, trying not to do anything that might surprise the younger man. Slowly, he put his hand on the back of Ben’s neck, sliding his fingers through his hair. Ben took a deep breath and let his shoulders settle slightly, though the muscles in his thighs were still tense, ready to move him away from the other man at the slightest breach of this wary trust.

Hux shifted again, spreading his legs a little. He pushed against the back of Ben’s neck, fingers going down the back of the borrowed red shirt.

“Over here,” he murmured, pushing Ben to kneel in between his legs. The smuggler swallowed but didn’t say anything, letting Hux move him, letting him choose his position. His right hand was tight on the half full glass; his left still held the volume he’d taken from the book shelf. With his hands occupied, he almost felt they were bound.

Ben looked up at Hux as the rain on the glass ceiling became a downpour.

The general leaned down to take the book from Ben, getting very close to the other man. He put it on a side table and then sat back, watching the younger man. He took a sip of the wine and gestured, legs spread wide to accommodate Ben’s shoulders.

“Do you like it?” he asked, raising his glass slightly.

Ben looked up at Hux’s pale face; the light in the room wasn’t bright and seemed to come from odd directions. It highlighted the General’s cheekbones and caught his irises like blue glass. There was a necklace his mother had with stones that color. He struggled for a moment, pointlessly, to remember where the memory had come from. He moved his open hand to Hux’s knee, still keeping his eyes on him.

“It’s good wine,” he said quietly, though he made no move to drink his own.

Hux glanced down at the hand on his knee and then looked back at Ben’s face. “You haven’t had much.”

“It’s not one that I’ve had before, so I don’t know when it kicks you. Besides, I’m only allowed to have one.” Ben tightened his hand on Hux’s knee.

Hux shrugged, and he didn’t mention Ben’s hand. He wanted to give Ben these moments, something intent and focused. The Knights of Ren were strange, they were men and women who had been taken and changed by the Supreme Leader. Arrik Hux wanted to keep Ben close, wanted to keep himself at the forefront of the younger man’s mind.

He shifted, leaning forwards to put his fingers along Ben’s cheekbone, still staring at the dark-haired man. He took a small sip of his wine, not looking away.

“It’s subtle. Made of jarplum.”

Keeping his eyes on Hux and being sure not to move so much as to disturb the man’s fingers, Ben raised his own glass to his mouth and took another sip. He swallowed, then licked his lips before speaking.

“The fruit was grown somewhere volcanic...but the volcanoes have been dreaming for aeons. They’re not dead though, just sleeping.” Ben made a noise and took another taste. “It’s ash, and honey, and wood. This bottle is old too, very old.” He swallowed harshly, eyes a little wider suddenly. Someone was standing behind him, he knew there was someone there. As far as the doorway, or close enough to touch him. Someone was there. He watched Hux’s unchanged expression. Didn’t he see him? Or feel him?

Hux barely smiled. He was relaxed, and that was the real difference, an absence of tension pulling down the corners of his eyes, making his mouth full.

“Very good,” he said, voice hushed. He caught Ben’s expression and slid his fingers back into Ben’s hair, his fingers pressed gently against the side of his neck. “What is it?”

Ben’s jaw muscles tightened slightly. He would not turn his head, he would not turn his head. There was no one there, no matter what all his senses were telling him. He closed his eyes and leaned into the general’s hand.

“It’s nothing.” No one. “Tell me what else I should taste.”

Hux rubbed his gloved thumb slowly along Ben’s jaw, leaning down a little more. He pulled his hand away, pulling his leather glove off with his teeth before putting it over the book on the table. He set his bare hand against Ben’s face again.

“Open your mouth.”

Ben felt his heart kick in his chest, and he couldn’t hide the blood rushing to his face. Again, the choice felt large around him, with voices in his head pressing down as they urged him not to. _Will you do this now? Put yourself under his control? What is he to you, boy?_ The voice was dark and used to being obeyed. Ash and honey and wood and wet rock.

He made a quiet noise that didn’t resolve itself into a word. There was another empty second before his lips parted. He opened his mouth a little wider as he met Hux’s eyes again.

The general shifted, putting his elbows on his knees. He held the glass in between his legs. Dipping one of his fingers into the wine, he raised his hand to place the drop on Ben’s tongue, pressing down.

“Cinnamon,” he murmured, leaning down. “Just the barest hint.”

Ben’s grip on Hux’s leg tightened, fingers digging into his skin beneath the heavy fabric. He inhaled around the other man’s finger, then made a quiet sound. He could smell the leather of Hux’s glove, outside air still caught in his clothes.

Hux removed his finger, shifting again. “Did you taste it?”

Ben swallowed, the sensation of the general’s finger still there on his tongue.

“I got a few things, but not the cinnamon,” he said quietly.

“No?” Hux put two fingers in the wine, leaning forward even more to place them on Ben’s tongue again. He put the glass down on the floor, wrapping his free hand around the back of Ben’s neck, keeping him close. It was unnecessary, Ben wasn’t moving away at all, but Hux liked the feeling of control. “Do you taste it now?”

Ben kept his breathing slow and even. He blinked twice, letting his eyelashes lie on his cheeks for a second each time. Tilting his chin up slightly, he let Hux’s palm fit the curve of the back of his neck. There was no real answer to the question.

He closed his lips around Hux’s fingers, curling his tongue around the tips. The most important part was keeping his eyes on the general’s. He exhaled slowly through his nose, watching the other man.

Hux hummed softly, sliding his fingers out of Ben’s mouth, watching him. He leaned down a little further, not even blinking.

“Still no?” Hux tsked, shaking his head slightly, dipping his fingers back into the wine. He didn’t wait for Ben to respond before he put his fingers back on Ben’s tongue, grip tight against the back of his neck.

This time, Ben pressed his tongue up against Hux’s invasive fingers as he slid them into his mouth. He closed his lips around his fingers again, eyes intense and dark.

This time, Hux moved his hand slowly, pulling his fingers back and then pushing them into Ben’s mouth again, not looking away. “Now?”

Ben kept his mouth tight around his fingers, then made a noise low in his throat. The rain had quieted above them and he felt that finally, it was only them. Phasma slept in a room far from them. The eyes he’d felt on the back of his shoulders had retreated.

Hux watched Ben’s expression slowly change, satisfied with the shift. He moved his hand slowly a few more times before pulling away, although he kept the hand behind Ben’s neck. Ben’s chest rose and fell slowly, but he was taking deep breaths, keeping himself calm by force of will. His eyes weren’t as tranquil as he tried to seem.

“Speak,” Hux ordered, eyes narrowing. “What is it?”

Ben wasn’t sure if he’d be able to say anything.

“It’s...it’s just you and me,” he managed finally. He slid his hand up Hux’s thigh a few inches. “It’s quiet.”

The officer nodded. “Just us.” The house itself was empty, even the droids that minded the place had turned off completely.

“It’s not usually like this.” He paused. “I don’t know how often you can taste the cinnamon.”

Hux leaned down again, fingers in the wine. “Close your eyes,” he murmured, voice soft as he put his fingers on Ben’s mouth, pushing until they rested on his tongue. “Take your time.”

Ben watched Hux’s pale eyes, the stormy water they were over him, before he closed his own. This time he refused to be as passive. He sucked the jarplum wine off his fingers, eyebrows knit on his forehead. He moved, pulling his head back against Hux’s hold so he would press forward at his own pace. Eyes still closed, Ben pressed the tip of his tongue between Hux’s fingers, sliding it between them as he moved forward to take his fingers fully into his mouth.

Hux made an appreciative noise, letting Ben do as he liked. It was rewarding to see Ben like this, so willing to do what he thought would make Arrik happy. This was a step forward, and Ben needed to be rewarded for good behavior.

Ben had only made a few lame attempts to sleep with Arrik, but the general knew that he couldn’t let that happen yet. It was too soon before Ben left, and Hux couldn’t have Ben write off everything they had been through as just some kind of strange foreplay.

A plan already forming in his mind, Hux’s hand sliding up and into Ben’s hair. He held him casually, other hand still moving slowly.

“Do you like this?” he asked, turning his hand slightly to press down on Ben’s tongue. “Look at you,” he leaned forward, shifting slightly. “You seem to be enjoying yourself.”

Ben was keenly aware of the fact that he wasn’t the only one enjoying himself, and he wanted Hux to know that he knew. His eyelashes moved slightly, but he didn’t open his eyes. If that was how the general wanted to play, he would play. He wanted to whisper it right into his head. _What about your enjoyment, sweet cheeks?_ But he contented himself with a quiet sound, half a moan.

Hux made no move to stop Ben, but he pulled his hand away, leaving Ben’s mouth open and completely underused. For a few second Hux let himself imagine holding Ben’s head and fucking into his mouth, not stopping until they were both spent. In a blink, the image was gone, pushed far back in his mind. Instead the general stood up slowly, still holding onto Ben’s hair.

“Up.”

Ben frowned as he got to his feet, moving quickly enough that Hux didn’t really pull his hair. He was still holding onto his glass of fruit wine; it was mostly full. He could feel the unpleasantness of saliva on the corner of his mouth from when the general had removed his fingers; it was wet and cooling quickly in the evening air.

“What do you want, Arrik?” he said, surprised by how hoarse his own voice sounded, how low it was.

Hux made a noise, taking a step back. He kept his hand against the back of Ben’s neck, moving him more with his hand and wrist than by pulling his hair. He led him over to the windows and put Ben in front of him.

“Windows open.”

The room responded, and the two windows slid back. Hux pushed Ben onto the balcony, and they were looking over the gardens, the field above them turned off after curfew. Hux stood next to him, hand still in Ben’s hair.

“I want you to show me something I’ll remember,” he said quietly, voice hushed by the rain.

Ben swallowed, eyes adjusting to the darkness outside, focusing on the dim lights that were tiny stars down in the garden.

“Take this,” he said, volume matched to Hux’s. He held his glass of wine out, looking out at the garden still and expecting the other man to take the glass from his hand.

Hux complied, taking wine from Ben. He held it in his gloved hand, and he let go of Ben’s hair. He dragged his fingernails down Ben’s back lightly, spreading them along his spine. Ben couldn’t suppress the shiver that followed Hux’s hand, but he didn’t turn his head to look at the other man even though the curiosity was burning through his stomach. He wanted to know what expression he wore at this moment.

The smuggler stood still, listening in the quiet to find what he needed. There was a fountain below them, toward the back of the garden. It was such a silly affectation really, to have a fountain on a world that was wet nearly all the time. He raised his hands and concentrated, finding the water without his sense of sight in the dark garden. Extending the Force, he could smell more as well: the garden had nightblooming flowers that flourished without the grey daylight.

Hux kept his hand against Ben, but he turned slightly to put the glass on a nearby table. He took a deep breath, looking out.

Ben pulled the water up out of its basin, drawing from the underwater system that fed into it. It still flowed and ran in liquid curves as it rose, slowly finding shape under Ben’s will and imagination.

“Watch now, Arrik.” His voice barely disturbed the night. “Watch and remember.” He opened his hands and raised them, palm up, then let his fingers curve softly as he brought them down slightly. The water flowed upwards again then started to come down slowly. As it did, it formed the shape of a face; for a long moment, the water was the face of Hux’s mother, as Ben had seen her in the library portrait. Exhausted, he let his hands drop and the water fell down all at once.

Hux slid his hand up, under Ben’s shirt, his nails digging into Ben’s lower back. His breathing hitched slightly there was a small spike of anger there, the fact that Ben could recreate his mother’s face somehow, that some small part of his past had been embedded in Ben’s thoughts.

The general took a deep breath in, swallowing, his nails dragging up Ben’s spine, rucking up his shirt and exposing his skin to the cold air. Ben took a quick breath through his teeth, looking over at Hux quickly. The man’s face was unreadable; he’d been silent through the whole thing.

“Is that what you wanted?” he asked, wanting his drink but too proud to ask for it.

Hux growled, fingernails hard against his spine. He took a deep breath, standing slightly behind Ben, putting his other hand on Ben’s hip. The smuggler wondered how deeply Hux would try to gouge him. Would there be any marks tomorrow?

“What else?”

Ben’s jaw tightened slightly. He’d taken Hux’s mother’s favorite place and returned her to it, just for a moment, in the element of her planet. That wasn’t enough? Fine then.

“That depends on how attached to the landscaping you are,” he said shortly.

Hux was still behind Ben, breathing against his neck. He dug his nails into Ben’s skin, holding onto his hip tightly.

“Go slow,” Hux murmured, shifting slightly. His grip was tight on Ben’s hip, bruisingly so.

Ben pressed his mouth, narrowing his eyes as he looked out over the still land below him. He took a deep breath and focused on the five points of slight pain against his spine. He felt each nail, counting out Hux’s fingers, then the tension in his joints. Thumb, index finger, middle finger, four, five. He raised his hand and counted them out again. One, two, three, ring finger, pinkie. He tilted his chin slightly, then brought his other hand up as well when he felt the ground respond. He felt through the Force, following the way the rocks created the surface, where the cracks in the ground led. Like water freezing in a fissure, he let the Force swell between the natural cracks. The ground groaned as he literally broke it apart.

Hux’s breath caught again, for an entirely different reason. He kept his hand on Ben’s hip, digging his nails into the curve there. He felt his heartbeat start to race and there was something like fear and awe and desire. He had short fingernails, but he left red welts as he scratched down Ben’s back. He wrapped his arm around Ben’s waist, watching the landscape shatter.

A long line opened in the rock below the right side of the garden. Ben jerked his hand up suddenly, and a huge chunk of the earth ripped itself free of the surface. It destroyed the wide bed of slumbering flowering, tearing them away from each other as he pulled the giant rock free and flung it away with an open handed gesture to the right. He grunted and pushed past his exhaustion. If the general wanted to see more, he would give him more.

“Ben.” Hux’s eyes were wide, his voice very soft. It was late, he knew nobody would see this, and he slid his hand down, pressing his palm against Ben’s torso.

Ben shoved forward with both hands, palms open and fingers spread. The field of uneven rocks beyond the garden trembled and seemed to scream as the ground broke apart in thick sheets. He stepped back with one foot to brace himself, tightening all the muscles in his core. His back was pressed against Hux’s chest and he didn’t shy away from the contact. In one sharp movement, Ben closed both hands into fists, turning his wrists as he pulled them into his sides.

The general didn’t move, holding Ben against him, his eyes huge as he watched, as he felt the power ripping up the garden behind the mansion. This was incredible, it was amazing, and Hux couldn’t help the fact that he was having a hard time breathing, his cheeks flushing as he gripped Ben’s hip, turning his head slightly, breathing against Ben’s neck.

Following Ben’s gesture, a giant sharp-edged boulder dragged itself out of the ground and came crashing toward the house. The dark-haired man kept his eyes on the rock’s progress; his control was slightly uneven, and its flight dipped a few times to scrape an overhanging piece against the ground below it with a horrible protest. Ben grunted, almost an answer, and exerted the Force again; the rock sped up as it got closer to the house.

The smuggler turned his right fist and opened his hand. The boulder dove sharply and destroyed the fountain, shattering it into shards that exploded away as the rock continued onward. Ben heard Hux’s slightly uneven breath by his ear as the rock grew larger in their line of vision. When it was within two meters of crashing into the balcony they were standing on, Ben flung out his other hand too. The boulder stopped in mid-air, hanging in front of them. He stood out of breath, body taut, with both hands out in front of him and his hair clinging to his sweat-covered forehead.

Hux nearly gasped, almost groaned, pulling Ben back against himself, breathing hard as he watched the boulder Ben had ripped from the earth destroy the back gardens. This was so much better than a parlor trick, the image of his dead, cold mother’s face in rain. This was real power, this was something he could never have, never control, but he wanted it, wanted all of what Ben had to offer, even if he wasn’t offering anything.

His fingers dipped below Ben’s waistband, and he couldn’t help himself, he was so attracted to this incredible display.

“Amazing,” Hux said, voice hushed. “Good, Ben. So good.”

Ben made a noise of satisfaction and concentration and the boulder wobbled slightly in the air as his concentration faltered. The general’s voice by his ear echoed like his own heavy breathing. He felt the weight of the rock through his whole body.

“Down, slowly,” Hux murmured, Ben’s back still pressed flush against his chest. As he spoke, his hand slid down to cup Ben, one thin layer of fabric separating Hux’s spread fingers and Ben’s cock. Ben pressed his mouth, tendons in his right wrist standing out against his skin. He pushed the boulder back a little more away from the house. He swallowed harshly; it was hard to concentrate with Hux’s hand on him. He shifted slightly to reset his stance, then brought the rock down. It landed as lightly as something that large could, destroying the flower bed and small bench below it.

Hux made a noise, pulling Ben even closer. He was out of breath, eyes wide, and he realized that he and Ben were both breathing hard, almost entirely in sync. Ben lowered his hands slowly as though unsure what to do with them. He put one on Hux’s wrist almost tentatively. The other grabbed onto the railing in front of him. The sounds of rock shifting on rock was still audible below them as the destroyed garden settled.

“Tell me, Arrik.” Ben closed his eyes, hearing their breaths together. “Will you remember?”

“I’ll remember,” Hux said, moving his hand slowly over Ben, shifting as Ben leaned forward to maintain their closeness. “Look at that. Look at what you can do,” Hux muttered, barely speaking above a whisper. “So good.”

Ben swallowed as he looked over the garden. Hux’s voice was intimate and pleased, and the smuggler’s pleasure increased when he heard him. It was good. Who was like him? He pushed his hips forward, pressing his mouth.

“I could tear it apart,” he murmured. “I could bring the whole house down around you.” Part of him wanted that, suddenly, to bury whatever lurked in those walls.

“I know,” Hux sighed, holding him close. When Ben moved against his hand Arrik began to rub his palm over his hardening cock slowly. “Maybe another time.”

“Are you afraid?” Ben asked, then closed his mouth on a quiet moan. He’d imagined this. Hux’s hand was more gentle than he’d thought, his fingers longer. “Are you afraid thinking about the stones crumbling around you, the wood splintering?”

“I’m not afraid,” Arrik said, leaning over Ben, still rubbing his hand over him, pressing his own hips forward against his ass. He hummed, pleased and wanting, hand hard on Ben’s hip. “One day I’ll watch you tear up a planet like that. Rip it apart.”

Ben swallowed, all his senses heightened. He felt the heat of Hux’s hand through his trousers, he felt the raw edges of the broken earth. He pushed back against him, then forward almost insistently against his hand. Arrik made another noise, jaw against Ben’s neck.

“You’ll have to find a safe place to watch it from,” Ben replied quietly. He set his teeth and closed his eyes; below them, one of the rocks shifted with a grating sound.

“Imagine it,” He murmured, turning his wrist to grip Ben through the fabric. The younger man was hard, and Hux pulled Ben back before he pushed his own hips forward against Ben’s ass. “Taking it all apart, ripping up continents, the stone and forests.” Hux was speaking quietly, digging his fingers into Ben’s hip. He was going slowly, still not touching Ben directly, fingers wrapped tight around Ben's dick through his basics. His grip was firm, and every time he pulled on Ben’s cock he twisted his wrist.

Ben heard his breath again, or was aware of it again, and how it matched the rush of hot air against his cheek. He ached in Arrik’s hand, needing more, demanding more with his body’s instinctive movements. He made a strangled sound, gripping the railing in front of him and opening his eyes. Most of the lights in the garden were gone, either destroyed by the rocks or their wiring disturbed by the upheaval. There were a few that had survived; they showed the new topography of the garden in eerie dark shapes and unnatural edges.

“How will I choose?” he asked roughly. “What planet will I pick to reframe the rivers and break the mountains free of their roots?”

“I’ll choose,” Hux growled, grip on Ben bordering on painful. He continued to stroke the younger man, breathing against his neck. “I will pick out the planet, the world, and you will make new maps, create new stars.”

Ben groaned quietly, gritting his teeth again. He was close, Hux was too close to him. They were private here, outside, away from the interior closed spaces. Right now, he believed it, everything the general breathed behind him. He had to protest, had to avoid losing himself in this man. He couldn’t let himself trust completely. Who could afford that?

“I can’t do that. Create new stars.” His hips bucked against Hux’s hand and he caught his breath. “No one can just create new stars.”

Hux heard him, heard his breath hitch, felt the way his torso tightened. He shifted suddenly and put both hands on Ben’s hips, pushing him forwards, against the railing. Arrik’s hands were under his shirt, against the small of his back, keeping Ben against the cold railing, still breathing against his neck.

“I will create a new universe,” he growled, leaning against Ben with his weight against the smuggler’s back. “I will reform systems, I will...” He breathed in, making a noise, shaking his head as he struggling to return his voice to normal.

Ben’s eyes were wide but he wasn’t seeing the ruined garden before him. He saw demolished worlds, he saw waterfalls draining into empty air when their basins were gone, he saw a promontory that he had raised to stand on himself. He was not standing there alone. He was standing like this, with Hux behind him, speaking into his ear with his voice like the sound of striking a crystal.

The railing pressed against him, unyielding, and the pain was intense and exquisite. He moaned again, louder, and shook his head.

“Say it,” Ben demanded. “Say it.”

Arrik sighed through his nose, nails digging into Ben’s back. “I will be a power in the galaxy,” he murmured, his breath misting in the cold air.

The balcony seemed still, even the rain seemed to have slowed, everything around them had become soft, undone by Ben’s power. Hux took a step back, his breathing still uneven, a light flush high on his cheeks. He felt, for the first time, as if he could take Ben Solo to bed purely for his own enjoyment.

But not now. He had to wait.

Hux shook his head. He took a deep breath and ran his hands through his hair, observing the destruction wreaked on his back garden.

Ben waited for something, for Hux’s heat to return, but he realized it was just him suddenly. He bowed his head, growling in frustration. He’d leave him here, wouldn’t he? With his cock hard and his breath coming in gasps, Arrik Hux would just ignore him?

“Damn it all,” he muttered under his breath, holding the railing tighter and tighter until his joints ached with the pressure.

Arrik went back into his main sitting room, pulling off his remaining glove and unfastening his jacket. He went back to the chair and sat down, picking up his wine and finishing it then placing the glass on the side table audibly.

He had let it go too far. Shifting in the chair, he took another deep breath, putting his fingers on his temple. Ben’s power was unmistakable, it was intoxicating. Arrik couldn’t even begin to describe how much he wanted it, how much he wanted to control Ben, leave him gasping and kneeling on the floor.

Ten minutes later, Ben walked back into the room, leaving the door to the balcony open behind himself. He set himself in front of Hux’s chair, staring down at him. The glass in his hand was still half full, as it had been since they’d walked out of this room in the first place. Keeping his gaze on the general, he waited. His face was expressionless.

Hux took a deep breath, shifting slightly to look up at Ben. His legs were spread slightly, and he was actually slouching in the chair, not affecting his usual posture at all. He tilted his head, still looking up at Ben, and he gestured with a hand, almost lazily.

“What is it?”

The muscles in Ben’s jaw rippled as he grit his teeth, looking down at the general. Without saying anything, he raised his hand and turned his wrist, tipping the glass he was holding. The wine poured out onto the floor at Hux’s feet, splashing his boots. Hux stood up immediately, any trace of his calm posture discarded. He didn’t say anything, jaw set as well, glaring at Ben.

When the glass was empty, Ben leaned past the other man to set the glass down on the table beside its mate. When he straightened, he met Hux’s eyes.

“Next time you pour a vintage, general, be sure you’re ready to drink it to the end,” he said quietly.

Hux’s eyes were ice and he didn’t blink as Ben spoke. He didn’t move, glaring at the younger man.

“Go to your rooms.” Hux’s voice was low and soft, but he kept an edge to it that made it seem like an order. “We’re done for the night.”

Ben didn’t step back and he didn’t look away.

“I’m tired, after everything. It was an eventful day.” He refused to let Hux’s dismissal be what sent him out of the general’s presence. “Think I’ll head to bed. Good night. General.”

Ben stepped back before turning around. After a few steps, he turned back and walked to Hux.

“Nearly forgot this,” he commented, leaning to pick up the book from the little table. “Good night.”

Hux took a step back, turning away from Ben as he took the novel. He was already halfway to his bedroom doors and didn’t stop, taking off his jacket slowly. Ben was maddening, but Arrik knew that he needed the man. He was important, in some ways Arrik himself didn’t understand yet. He wanted to pull the other man apart.

Ben watched his back, then shook his head once. He felt something like a tug between them, and he wasn’t sure if it was something Hux was feeling or something from inside himself. He could smell the spilled wine on the floor.

“Good night, sweet cheeks,” he murmured to himself, then walked out of the room and into the hallway.

Hux closed the doors behind himself, and he felt some strange combination of fury, awe and a growing desire to see Ben Solo begging on his knees.


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> For all you newbies [ The series page is here](http://archiveofourown.org/series/461893) and [the first installment is here.](http://archiveofourown.org/works/6804667/chapters/15539137)
> 
> we got a nice long update this week! lots of old imperials, some cool cadets and of course [MM-0116, who you can see in all her glory by just clicking here](http://67.media.tumblr.com/8297f70f71353471764dde1a87e3fbf0/tumblr_o3kywmz46i1sw1plno1_500.jpg). let us know what you think of this chapter! we love hearing from you guys, and your support means the world. xo tiger & wraith

Arkanis days didn’t differentiate, Ben found. No one remarked on the destroyed garden, and no one moved to fix it up. He wondered if they thought it was some sort of natural disaster, which seemed ridiculous. What natural disaster could do all this at once, so quickly? What natural disaster ripped boulders out of the earth and threw them over long distances?

But no one mentioned it to him, even in passing. Even at breakfast, which he had alone. He’d gotten a message on the datapad assigned to him that he had full access to any of the academy buildings he wanted to see, any of the academy facilities he wanted to use. This time when he wandered (of course he wandered, there was nothing else to do while he waited), he felt people watching him. Not the way the house did; these were real eyes, flesh and blood people who watched him. But it wasn’t the cadets. Some of them averted their eyes when he walked by. He imagined that his sparring match with MM-whatever-her-number-was had traveled as exciting gossip through the campus. So they didn’t look, though he knew they did when he turned his head.

It was the officers and trainers and teachers he felt really watching him. He felt that each one was looking after him for the same reason. Many of these officers had been part of the Empire. For all he knew, they were comparing him to whatever Force sensitives they’d known during that time. Or distrusting him. That was more likely, he figured. The Empire hadn’t shown a lot of love for people like him.

The nervous tension built as he walked the campus, and it was a relief to find one of the training centers. According to the datapad, there were areas for weights, for sparring, for swimming, for running, for ‘special weapons.’ Looking over that list, it seemed like various forms of fencing were included. He was struck by a desire to hold a foil, a wooden practice saber, something. His walk quickened with the anticipation. It was quieter on this side of the center; apparently, the cadets didn’t all gravitate to the ‘special weapons’ area the way he did.

Ben shrugged his jacket off as he walked into the building. It was slightly damp from his walk around campus in the misty weather. He glanced at the numbers posted very clearly by the doors. There was no way to get lost, really. Everything was marked and labeled. He turned down two hallways, following the directory for one of the rooms marked out as a salle.

Meanwhile, Hux had been awake for nearly three hours, had done calisthenics in the broken up back garden, feeling extraordinarily light as he changed and left for the main Academy. He had meetings with some of the officers to review curriculums and test methods for the next few years of cadets. Their practices seemed to be working, better and faster, and Hux was eager to see his men presented more challenging situations, more extreme tests of will, character and strength.

He decided to seek out MM-0116, wondering if perhaps signing the would-be officers up for a few months of trooper basic would do them a bit of good, considering one recent squad of cadets had scored lower marks than he would have liked on the physical training.

The general had found her in one of the weapons training facilities, and waited until she was done with her instructions before pulling her out to the hallway. He had finished speaking with her about the new training regimen he wanted her to plan, and had his pad behind his back. She had relaxed to the point where she was leaning against the wall, holding the long, weighty staff she had been using easily in the crook of her arm.

Ben turned the corner and was surprised to see people by the end of the hallway. He didn’t know why; of course there would be other people using the training facilities. Everyone wore the First Order black training gear; it could be anyone. As he got closer, he realized one was wearing officer grey. The way the two figures were leaning was unmistakable. She leaned back to draw him in. His shoulders were relaxed in a way that said nothing about work. It was almost charming, really, something warm inside the durasteel walls.

The man turned his head slightly at the same moment Ben recognized the woman. Her blunt dark hair framed a stunning, sharp face. MM-0116. Hux’s hair was unmistakable. Ben felt the blood rush to his face as he stopped walking. They were still a distance from him, enjoying the privacy of what they still believed was an empty hallway. He tightened his hands into fists and felt the railing cracking against the pressure in his mind.

Whatever he’d thought before, this was the reality. The times Hux had walked away and he’d supposed it a power play, was it this? Ben had watched Hux watch the stormtrooper and had remembered how the general had read his datapad when he’d come to watch him spar. He swallowed and stepped back, cheeks too warm even in the coolness of the hall. Turning to walk away, he didn’t take pains to be quiet. If there’d been anything in that empty hallway to throw, he would have.

At the noise, Hux turned away from Ems, looking over at Ben’s retreating back. He frowned deeply, and it was almost as if he could see the anger and annoyance coming off the other man as he stormed away. The reaction was confusing, and Arrik didn’t know quite what had caused the upset. He decided that it could wait, and turned back to MM-0116, asking another question about the next direction she was taking her training.

Ben stumbled into one of the weapons training rooms and was dismayed to find it occupied. It was a large room, with several groups of cadets sparring with various weapons. Desperate to find something to focus on, he watched a pair fighting with what looked like the old force pikes the Emperor’s guards had used. The rhythmic sound of the blows let him pull himself back. It didn’t matter, he told himself. What was he hoping to get from Hux anyway? He didn’t even call the man by his first name. Damn him for being the fool, to think that the general even had any kind of attraction to another man that wasn’t just a desire for the power he held.

Ben dropped his jacket and bag in a little pile by the side of an empty mat, then pulled his borrowed shirt over his head and let it fall from his hand. He grabbed up one of the long black rods standing in for practice swords. The rack was full; obviously it wasn’t a discipline many of the cadets felt was useful or even interesting. The smuggler turned his wrist and swung the rod to test its weight; it had been balanced, though it was always strange to fight this way with a weapon that didn’t respond like a lightsaber. The saber itself was part of the movement, the way the energy had its own power to balance against your body’s momentum. He swallowed as he stepped onto the mat, swinging it a few times to loosen his shoulder and to let his muscles remember. He hadn’t held his own lightsaber in more than a year now. His uncle had it waiting for him in a box, where he always kept it for him when he left.

He shoved the thoughts back as he started to move. He started slowly, the first form drawing him in careful steps across the mat. The room fell away as he went through each form, finding and correcting the weaknesses that had come from lack of practice. His body remembered easily and fell back into its former steps. He could have been alone in the room; he could have been watched by the whole school; he could have been back with his uncle. It felt good to move like this, to remember the strength of his broad strokes and disarming blocks, to trust his wrist as the rod swung in easy circles beside him, before him, stepping back to raise his hand at the points in the form where he brought the Force from his core up through his arm to push or to pull an invisible opponent.

At the end of the fifteenth combination, he lowered the makeshift sword and came back to the room. He didn’t know how much time had passed and he looked around for a clock as he pushed his sweaty hair back from his hot forehead. Then he realized it didn’t matter; he had no schedule, no one expected him anywhere.

Ben walked over to set the practice rod back into the rack, then grabbed a clean towel from a stack. The sounds of the practicing behind him was oddly comforting, the dull thud of bodies hitting the mat, the sharper sound of weapon against weapon. When he went back to get dressed again after wiping himself down, he thought of how bright the blue blade of his saber would shine in here. It would be the only color in the monochromatic room. He put his bag over his shoulder and dropped the towel into the bin on his way out the door. There were ways to stop thinking about the way Arrik Hux took his gloves off (with his mouth, with his teeth, with his eyes unwavering). He was glad to find another one.

A few hours later, Hux was still confused by Ben’s reaction. He and MM-0116 had been speaking in the hallway about personal disciplines and for some reason the discussion of fencing versus her own form of sword fighting had incensed Ben Solo.

Hux decided that it wasn’t worth the time. He elected to ignore the strange feeling of animosity and continue with his day. He didn’t eat at the mansion, instead choosing to take lunch privately with Acting Commandant Sage in his personal quarters, giving them time to discuss the Academy and its direction. He checked his datapad infrequently, keeping tabs on Ben, Phasma, and a few other sentients he had a vested interest in.

Ben had skipped lunch; after the gymnasium, he’d found the archives. His unlimited access to historical documents gave him hours and hours of holovids of the glory days of the Empire. Aerial displays, endless lines of stormtroopers marching before the Emperor’s pleased, watchful eye. The red-helmeted Imperial Guards taking down a group of assassins. Awards ceremonies for several clone commanders. His grandfather, breathing harsh and audible on the holo, his distinctive black mask facing Ben for a heartbeat before Darth Vader headed onto a transport.

His datapad beeped a reminder and he jumped, startled by the intrusion of the present into the dim room. He pulled the pad out of his bag and swore loudly, swiping his hand across the larger screen to end the holovid early. He was expected to that dinner Hux was hosting at the general’s mansion that evening. And he’d managed to sweat in the one relatively nice outfit he had.

He half jogged back down the pathways that led back to the house. He could shower, at least; that would help. Brushing his hair, another point in his favor. Slamming the door behind him (who kept a door that could be slammed anymore?), Ben skidded to a stop in the hallway to fling his jacket into the front closet before racing to the stairs. He didn’t hear anyone else in the house, but he could smell food cooking in the kitchen and imagined that all the droids that kept up the house were on and about their business.

Hux, after his long lunch with Sage, had only stayed around the Academy a little longer before going back to the mansion. Stepping into the kitchen, he oversaw the meal the droids were preparing, double checked to make that everyone had an invitation, including the top two cadets and troopers from the graduating classes, Phasma, Sage, as well as an additional handful of teaching officers who had requested an invitation. All told, there would be just over twenty people attending the annual Academy Dinner he held almost every year. It was a holdover from his father, and he hadn’t seen fit to stop it.

Thinking about it as he walked up the stairs, he re-sent Ben his invitation, hoping the man wouldn’t hold whatever had happened earlier against him, even if he had no real idea what that was.

When the notification hit his datapad, Ben was standing by his bed wearing just a towel, looking down at the clothes laid out on the bed. His proposed outfit for the night was bad, even by his standards. His mother would have killed him if she’d known he was meeting with anyone wearing those patched trousers (no matter how neatly they’d been fixed) and the shirt that was still missing a button along the front (it was one button out of like...fifteen, who’d notice?). He’d made a mostly successful attempt at polishing his boots, so he hoped that the gesture paired with his clean hair and body would make up for the clothes. At least it was all black. That tended to make things look nicer than they were, in his experience.

He grabbed the datapad off the bedside table and raised his eyebrows.

“Yeah, I know. I’m coming,” he muttered as he dismissed the invitation. “Don’t worry. You can make me look like an idiot in front of your buddies one more time.” He paused, then pulled the invite up to respond to it.

_Staff or guest?_

Hux frowned at the response and quickly pulled up the tracker on the pad. It showed the response had come from Ben’s room, and instead of using the tech, Hux stopped by Ben’s door, knocking firmly.

“Guest,” he said, just loud enough to be heard. “Do you have appropriate clothing?”

Ben had just buttoned up his trousers when the response to his message was yelled back at him through the door. Mother of Kw’ath…

“Define ‘appropriate,’” he shouted back.

“No rips, tears, or singes, preferably something that would stand up to a uniform.” Hux said, taking a step back. “If you’re in need I’m sure I can find something more suitable.”

As Hux listed off the things that made a piece of clothing unacceptable, Ben realized he was using it as a checklist of things his clothes were made up of.

“Well,” he hazarded, “I don’t think you’d be too keen on what I’ve got on then.” _I don’t want to wear your old creepy visitor clothes. I don’t want to wear anything that belonged to someone who died in your house._ “Do you have anything I could wear that wasn’t worn by someone who just left it here?”

Hux sighed. “Ben, I haven’t actually lived here in over ten years,” he explained, allowing himself to be annoyed for a few seconds. “Everything here has been left.”

Ben pulled the door open and met Hux’s eyes. He couldn’t pick out what emotion he felt when he looked at him, so he tried to ignore all that and just face this moment. Watching Hux, he pushed his drying hair back from his forehead.

“I don’t want to wear something that makes me look…” He pressed his mouth for a second, then finished. “Out of place.” It was a quiet, honest request. He knew he’d already stand out. He’d stood out everywhere he’d gone for his whole life. Sometimes it helped to wear a costume. Smuggler’s mismatched pieces, rich clothes that fit into the Senate suites. He was asking for something that let him be part of this place, just a little bit more.

Hux frowned slightly, eyes flicking over Ben’s face for a few seconds before he nodded.

“As long as you’re not opposed to wearing black, I think we’ll manage.” He took a step back, gesturing. “My rooms, if you don’t mind.”

Ben found himself a bit loathe to return to the scene of his humiliation the previous evening, but what could he bring up as an argument? Of course the clothing would be there. He nodded and walked out into the hall with the general, bare feet silent on the floor.

“Did you have a good day?” he asked in a conversational tone.

Hux made a noise, shrugging. “Productive.” He glanced over at Ben, eyebrows up. “I thought I saw you in the training facilities. Did you find what you were looking for?” he asked, opening the doors to his suite and going through the lounge to his private room. Again, he gestured for Ben to sit in one of the high backed chairs as he went into his closet.

Ben sat down slowly, eyes on Hux the entire time. The room around him might not have been lived in, it was so nearly kept. The bed might not have been slept in.

“No challenges, but I spent some time there, yeah.”

“Well, a challenge is a tall order, isn’t it?” he asked, raising his voice as he looked through the clothes in his closet. Most were, by his own admission, uniforms of some kind or another, but he pushed aside hangars, searching for something that Ben would find palatable.

Ben paused a minute, trying to really weigh his words rather than just blundering through them. “I saw you there as well.”

“I didn’t stay long.”

“No...I guess you’re a busy guy. Places to be.” Ben licked his lips and slouched in the chair. It was the type of chair that actively discouraged bad posture; it was almost more difficult to slouch than to sit up straight. “People to do, er...things to do, people to see.”

Inside the closet, Hux frowned deeply, knowing that he hadn’t misheard. He paused, and then started to pull a few pieces of clothing off the racks. Dark pants, a wrap-like skirt, paler shirts, everything with crisp lines, sharp creases, impeccable seams.

He found a few red items, dark pants with red stripes down the sides, and he brought it all out, setting the pieces on the bed

“I don’t come here often. My schedule on Arkanis is often full.” Hux glanced up at Beh, eyebrows up. “Are you trying to imply something else?”

Ben watched him, curious about the clothes Hux had chosen for him. He wondered for a moment if the general would try to punish him with clothes he knew the smuggler would hate but would have to wear to actually have some chance of fitting in at this event.

“Not implying,” he muttered, then took a deep breath as he stood up. “Sorry I interrupted your hookup with the girl in the hallway. I knew you were into her, but I didn’t know how busy you got on campus.” He looked at the clothes Hux had laid out, walking over to the bed. These were clothes that couldn’t belong to the other man, or at least, he couldn’t imagine him in them. He picked up a shirt with a hundred tiny, complicated pintucks across the front. He couldn’t see Hux in these clothes, he thought as he put the shirt down and picked up a fitted vest with a longer flared back, but Hux had definitely picked clothes that would suit Ben.

Hux frowned deeply, glancing over at Ben again. “My personal relations are none of your concern.”

“Right, right. And all I’m doing is apologizing for barging in while you were setting up your evening. I mean, dinner with me or that? I get it.” Ben stayed by the bed, picking up pieces and setting them down again.

“Are you really sorry or are you just trying to figure out how to ask me if I’m sleeping with her?”

Ben looked over at the general and raised his eyebrows. “Fine. Are you sleeping with her?”

“On occasion.” Hux’s voice was utterly without malice; it was just a fact.

Ben crumpled the shirt in his hand. It didn’t matter, it shouldn’t matter. But jealousy coiled in his gut again and he dropped the clothing back onto the bed. The evening was tainted.

Hux watched him for a few seconds, frowning deeply. He shook his head, trying to resist rolling his eyes. He gestured back to the bed. “Is any of this to your liking? You seem particular, and I’d like you to...” Hux paused as if he was searching for the right phrase, “look a certain part.”

Ben looked over at Hux with a slight frown creasing his forehead.

“What part is that exactly?” he asked, looking back to the clothes on the bed. Each item was high quality, each item gorgeously made. He felt a real attraction for one of the deep crimson shirts, but just looking at it told him it wouldn’t allow for his shoulders. He picked up a black shirt and smiled a little when the shifting fabric just barely caught the light with a ripple of muted silver.

“A fighter. A future knight, or at least someone who could be that.” Hux said quietly, watching Ben. “That shirt.” He looked up at Ben, eyebrows up. “Start with that.” He took a step back, gesturing towards the closet. “Help yourself to whatever you’d like to wear. Obviously I’d prefer you wear something along these lines, more formal.”

“Formal. I’ve never really been that good at formal.” Ben looked over the pieces on the bed, then grabbed a handful before walking into the large closet. Nearly everything on one side was uniforms, neat, identical. “Is she...do you sneak around because you’ve got some forbidden love thing going on?”

“Not particularly.” The general left his bedroom and went to the main study, sitting in one of the elegantly cold chairs that faced his doors as he waited for Ben. “I have a reputation. She understands that...whatever we do is an arrangement and not anything else.”

“Oh.” Ben thought about that. His reputation. “Just an arrangement. An arrangement because of circumstances? If circumstances changed would the arrangement?”

“It would still just be an arrangement,” Hux said, crossing his legs.

Ben didn’t respond, not sure why the answer should make him smile. It was a small smile, but he turned back to the closet offerings with a little more enthusiasm. Hux’s eyebrows raised and he leaned forward again, watching Ben’s shoulders fall again, relaxing slightly.

“There’s not much of a selection,” Hux said, through the door.

“No...I think you pulled out the good stuff already.” Ben went through a few of the remaining hangers that weren’t full of First Order uniforms, then made a noise and started changing into the clothes he’d taken from the bed. He hesitated, then put on the long sleeved black shirt; it fit him snuggly and the cuffs came down nearly to his knuckles by design rather than poor fit.

The first jacket was longer and came down just past his hips. He looked at himself in the closet mirror and shook his head; the long plain front made him appear to have an insectoid carapace. He didn’t like it. The second jacket had sleeves that showed the shirt, both at the cuffs and through the diagonal slits that ran across the chest. He was less worried about the bottom half. Pants were pants; as long as he found a pair that was long enough, he was happy. The black ones Hux’s had chosen with the red stripe down each leg turned out to fit the bill. He stared at himself for a minute. His polished boots were waiting in his room. Was this what a Knight of Ren looked like? He had no idea. He had nothing to go on but Hux’s limited closet and vague hints. The smuggler took a deep breath and walked out into the room, surprised and not surprised to see the general right there in a chair, waiting for him. “How’s this?”

“I had forgotten that was in there.” Hux muttered, eyebrows up. He took a second, looking Ben up and down, shifting a little. He took a good minute before responding. “More Knight than Vader, but I suppose if you can tolerate it, that will be acceptable.”

Ben frowned and shook his head, looking down at himself. “What does Darth Vader have to do with any of this?” He couldn’t tell if Hux actually thought this was acceptable or not.

“Many of these officers will look at you and see someone else,” Hux said, gesturing again to the flowing garment. “The jacket is... _much_.”

Ben made an annoyed sound and started undoing the jacket’s clasps. “Well, you pick then. I don’t know what this picture you have in your head is. I don’t have the same one.”

Hux made a noise, standing again. Walking over to Ben he led him back into the bedroom and put a hand on his shoulder to push him down to sit on the bed. Looking over the clothes, he made a noise, frowning. He turned to to his closet again and came out with a slightly creased jacket that had obviously been folded up somewhere. It was a jacket that was slightly too large for him, crisp ponte fabric, some gold seaming around the edges and brass buttons. Ben raised his eyebrows when he saw it. That was much more military than he’d had in mind.

“What does that one make me into?” he asked, standing up and holding his hand out for the jacket.

“Something they can’t control,” Hux said quietly, passing him the jacket. “These are just clothes, but it’s just a night, and you are more than they think of you.” It was rote, almost as if it was something he had heard himself dozens of times before.

Ben took the jacket, tossing the other one onto the bed. This one seemed new and old; he didn’t recognize the style exactly, but it reminded him of things he’d seen. He pulled it on and tugged it into place, then looked down to fasten the front. “Do I look like some kind of space pirate now?”

“You look more put together than a pirate,” Hux muttered, staring at the top of the thin, high collar. He shook his head and took a deep breath, taking a step back.

The smuggler laughed as he did the top button, almost forgetting to be annoyed with the other man. He looked up and held his arms out.

“Now do I pass muster?” He felt silly, dressed up with gold and buttons. Maybe this would just be like a Senate dinner after all. “Does ‘put together’ count?”

Hux frowned slightly, looking Ben over again. He wasn’t entirely satisfied, but he sighed, running a hand through his hair. Taking another step back, he shrugged.

“I’m not sure what it is.”

Ben snorted and looked down at himself again. He tapped one of the brass buttons on his chest, then looked over at Hux.

“That doesn’t really inspire confidence,” he said wryly.

Hux was still frowning, and it was truly frustrating that something as simple as what to wear to a dinner eluded him. He had only ever had to bother with uniforms, and his time on Tyrakos probably proved his inability to choose clothing that was not First Order approved.

“Wear whatever you’d like,” he finally said, impatience tinging his voice.

Ben shrugged and looked over the clothes on the bed again. He didn’t know what he was supposed to be, and he wasn’t sure what Hux was trying to make him into. It seemed important, but he didn’t even know why. He took the jacket off and carefully folded it again; obviously, it meant something to Hux, and he wasn’t going to disrespect that the man had shared it. He set it down and picked up another jacket, this one made of a thick, textured fabric.

Hux swallowed, watching Ben, still frowning. He took a deep breath and stepped away, going back to the chair and sitting down, pulling out the small pad he used to control the mansion, going through the lists and preparations he had been making throughout the day.

“So...how’s this?” Ben turned to face Hux, arms out again. The jacket was tailored to the waist, with heavier wider sleeves that were open at the cuff. He made a noise and pointed at piece of fabric on the bed he assumed was a short silken waist wrap from Galatea. “Maybe with...that? Though I’m really bad at figuring them out.”

Hux made a noise. “Maybe no jacket. It’s heavy.” Hux knew that he was the last person to be giving Ben fashion advice. But Ben nodded sagely and undid the single large button on the jacket and threw it back into the pile. He pulled the wrap around his waist and fought with the tie, then picked up another belted jacket that ended below his hips. The fabric was smooth, with a little bit of the shine that First Order uniforms had. It fit him well, better than he’d expected.

Tilting his head to the side, Hux frowned. He shifted, tilting his head the other way, and nodded.

“Better. The lines are...neater, which is probably the right word for it.”

Ben tugged the belt a little tighter and shrugged. “As you’re probably getting, dressing up is not one of my strong suits. There’s a reason I’ve been wearing the same clothes for three years. I like to find something that works, and let that just become my signature.” He laughed, walking over to look at himself in the mirror.

Hux took a deep breath and gestured. “You spent time in the Senate; I’ve been in uniforms all my life. Dark colors will keep you from standing out too much but no matter what you wear, you’ll still be the center of attention, much of the time.” He stood up, going to his bedroom door. “If that’s what you’d like to wear, it will be fine. Do you feel...appropriate?”

Again, Ben tried to read Hux without actually reading him. Just by watching his face, his gestures. He wasn’t going to allow himself to get close again, not that close. He didn’t want to even touch the edges of Hux’s mind. He apparently didn’t belong there. As Hux had said, he was still just Ben.

“Do you think this works? Be honest; you won’t hurt my feelings.”

“It will do fine,” Hux said, frowning slightly. “Keep this, then, and let’s be done with it.”

Ben nodded and glanced at his reflection once more. This was nicer than anything he’d worn in quite awhile, and he couldn’t help wondering where it had come from. What visitors did Hux have who dressed in anything like this? They couldn’t have been other officers, could they? Offworlders, comfortable enough to sleep here in the dark heart of the growing First Order. He let it go as he walked to meet Hux by the door. As usual he had too many questions, and as usual, nobody wanted to really answer them.

“You may come down at your leisure,” Hux said as he stood at the top of the stairs, heading down. “The party will start shortly, I’m sure no one is here yet.”

“You asking me to be early to a party?” Ben asked, smirking. “No way in hell, sweet cheeks. I make an entrance or I don’t enter at all.”

Hux rolled his eyes, turning away. He was sure it was all bravado. “As you’d like.”

Hux left Ben, heading to the front foyer. Phasma would be getting ready soon, and the rest of the invited guests would arrive soon after. The captain attended dinners like this only as a personal favor to him. After the first year when she’d had been the only infantry in a room full of ranking officers, he had recommended that she invite the best of the new legion of troopers to attend as well. It was only in their private conversations that she had made one or two mentions - significant for a woman like Phasma - about the fact that she didn’t particularly enjoy the company of old wizened Imperials who still saw stormtroopers as little better than bantha fodder.

Considering the training the troopers went though now, Hux wouldn’t be surprised if they were superior to the Empire’s own officers. It was an easy condition to meet.

The guests started to trickle in, and Hux was relieved that they all didn’t show up on his doorstep at exactly the scheduled time. While he was able to keep this mask on for a while, it would be difficult to affect it immediately.

Ben felt a little more like himself with his boots on, he decided half an hour later as he was coming down the stairs. The house felt different; while not full, and not exactly buzzing with the excitement of a party, there was energy and personality that edged out the sullen darkness that usually pervaded it. Those baleful eyes had been banished, at least for the evening. At least while all the lights were on. The house smelled of good food, and Ben heard conversation coming from a room of the house he hadn’t been in before. He ran his hand through his hair one more time (it was still slightly damp underneath, no one would notice that, he hoped) then smoothed his other hand down the front of his borrowed jacket. This was, he thought to himself with a quick smirk, like something from a kids’ story. The smuggler all cleaned up and dressed in nice clothes, arriving at the party and suddenly it’s revealed -- _gasp!_ \-- he’s a prince!

It was more likely he’d walk in and they’d all turn to one another in little huddles to murmur about him, just loud enough so he could hear the disdain and distrust in their voices. It wouldn’t be the first time.

He followed the sound of voices to its source and hesitated in the doorway of a room with tall windows and built-in shelves displaying Imperial mementos. The room was a wash of grey uniforms. The only thing that got his feet to move again was the promise of liquor; there was a droid at the dark wood bar across the room.

Inside the large drawing room, a group of about eight congregated. Hux wasn’t inside, but the tall, broad figure of Phasma was unmistakable. She was wearing a well-kept dress uniform, made of a light grey fabric with red seaming down the pant leg and around the joints of her shoulders that met in a v at the center of her back. She was speaking with a pair of eager-eyed cadets, also in the matching silver-grey, although with no red along their back and none of her bars across their arms.

Ben actually sighed with relief when he saw her on his way toward the bar. He didn’t see Hux, no, he didn’t feel that Hux was there yet. He didn’t need to pick out his particular uniform to know when he was around anymore. He smiled quickly at Phasma and nodded to her. It was strange to see her in something that was neither her armor nor the workout gear she wore when they sparred. He wasn’t sure which made her more imposing, the chrome armor or this sharp uniform that, again, set her apart from nearly every other person in the room. He was, he was unsurprised to learn, the only person wearing black and taller than most of them. He wasn’t exactly blending in either.

He leaned in toward the barkeeping droid as though he was sidling up to a watering hole on some dingy planet, pitching his voice lower.

“Tell me you’ve got Corellian brandy, please,” he said and was pleased when the droid whirred an affirmative before pouring his drink for him. He nodded his thanks, then took a bracing sip before he turned to face the room again. He’d never realized before how much he appreciated his mother right beside him at Senate functions, whispering names and guest information directly into his head so he never seemed at a loss.

Phasma turned, smiling slightly, and gestured Ben over.

“Troopers, this is Ben Solo. You may remember him from the fight demo a few days ago.”

Both young troopers saluted. One was a muscular, gangly girl with pale skin and long, straight black hair, her eyes seemingly without irises, totally dark. The other was a boy who seemed a little too skinny to be an infantryman, but he had bright eyes that took in everything happening around him.

“Ben, this is PR-9000, who goes by Pro only in the most informal of settings,” Phasma said quietly, gesturing to the girl, who saluted. “And NS-2581, who goes by Twin.”

Ben nodded to each of them as Phasma introduced them, then smiled a little.

“‘Twin?’ Is there an NS-2582 out there?” he asked before taking a sip of his brandy.

“Yes,” the young trooper answered, glancing at Phasma before addressing Ben. “Yes, sir.”

Pro smirked and Phasma didn’t respond.

“But there’s a NS-2583, and an eight-five, and an eight-seven,” he explained, getting slightly ahead of himself, tripping over his words.

“Are you all related?” Ben asked curiously. This was the first time he’d actually spoken with a stormtrooper. It occurred to him belatedly. It was the first time since he’d arrived on Arkanis that he’d spoken to someone who wasn’t Hux or Phasma.

“Sir, no sir. We came from the same station before we were transferred to Arkanis Academy. I mean, sir, I was transferred, and so was NS-2582, and the other troopers. But not every NS-2500 got to come here, sir. It’s an honor.”

Pro rolled her eyes and sipped at her drink, which was sparkling and suspiciously clear. Phasma made a noise, speaking up to save the stormtrooper from his own nerves.

“Twin is the best pilot to come out of this year’s stock. He will be on the _Finalizer_ , as will Pro, who managed to land a hit on MM-0116 after you left.”

“Oh.” Ben looked over at Pro, nodding to her. “Congrats. You must be one hell of a fighter. Congrats to both of you, huh? That’s a good placement. Real good.” He took a sip of his drink, then gestured with the glass to the one PR-9000 was holding. “What’d you get there? I’m always looking for something local and unique to try.”

Pro glanced at Phasma and then back at Ben. She smiled a little more brightly and her eyes seemed to change to a dark amber color when she tilted her head.

“Sir, this is a personal favorite of mine. It’s called soda water. I’m sure if I ask the droid real sweet he might be able to pour you a glass.”

Phasma’s eyebrows shot up, and the young girl glanced at her and her smile dropped faster than a leaden hook.

“I apologize, sir,” she said immediately, her face returning to a more neutral expression.

The captain sighed through her nose and pushed her short blonde hair back, looking over at Ben.

“The troopers have forgotten that while they are out of their armor, they are still representatives of their class, and ought to behave themselves better in esteemed company.”

Twin looked panicked for a second, but Pro’s neutral expression didn’t change. Underneath, she wasn’t particularly angry, but more annoyed at herself. Pro knew better, she did, but it wasn’t her fault that she assumed they would be able to act more casually, especially with Phasma introducing them by their nicknames and not their designations.

Ben glanced from Phasma to the younger troopers, a little confused. Isn’t that the way people flirted and played at parties? For a second, he wasn’t sure how to respond himself.

“Well, if they were talking to anybody else, maybe it would be a problem. I’m definitely the lowest ranking person here, so it’s not.” He winked at Pro quickly, half smiling at Twin. “I’ll have to try out this ‘soda water’ of which you speak.” He held up his own glass. “I generally stick with Corellian stuff when I’m somewhere new. They always have it.”

He looked around at some of the closer shelves. The items placed on them were all remnants of the past. Antique blasters, holocubes which he imagined displayed some of the Empire’s grand moments, medals on velvet plaques. He saw a polished stormtrooper helmet displayed in one corner; it was the old style, slightly different from the ones the troopers wore now. The helmet gleamed under the careful lighting, and Ben remembered the battered one he’d found stashed on the _Falcon_ as a child. The old Imperial insignia was everywhere; in this room, the First Order’s new, sharper symbol was nowhere to be found.

“My body can’t process alcohol,” Pro explained, shrugging. She looked wistfully at the glass that Twin was holding, something that looked like a light wine. “Instant sick.”

Phasma looked to Ben, sipping from her own glass.

“The Gweniael whiskey rivals the Corellian vintages. I would recommend that if you’re looking for something made in a nearby system.”

Ben looked back to the captain and nodded. “I’ll keep that in mind for my next glass.” He took a deep breath. “I’m sure I’ll need one. So...can you point out a few key people to me? I’ll have to play the introduction game later, but I wouldn’t mind knowing something going in.” He gestured with his glass. “That’s Acting Commandant Sage; I did meet him when we landed.” He already felt the side glances that were being aimed in his direction.

“Most of these are commanders who teach at the Cadet Academy. They all have military rank, but go by professor except on the rare occasion when they have a hard time letting go of former glories.” Phasma turned slightly to look over the room. Pro grinned, and Twin looked slightly mortified, getting red and turning to his peer, whispering to her under his breath while Phasma indicated each person with a slight gesture of her chin.

“Bald, tall; his name is Professor Baruchiel, he teaches history at both academies, head of the department. Well- liked, but don't mention the battle of Yavin. The man with silver hair is Professor Mendus; he works under Baruchiel, teaching tactics and strategy, only for cadets. The woman over there, talking to the two men who look like they’re about to shit themselves is Colonel Sabé Pravel. She’s the head flight instructor for both academies and will tell anyone who will listen about her escape from the Death Star and her subsequent exploits with Grand Admiral Thrawn.”

Pro nearly giggled, hiding it with her hand, and Twin grinned over at her, elbowing her. Ben’s little smile followed theirs before he looked back to their commander, then out again at the room. Phasma cast a glance in their direction but decided not to say anything to them. “Talking to Pravel are Professor Aldez, mathematics head of department, and Captain Shiar’kos, head of technology advancement and sciences. Again, I have to ask that you not mention the Death Star, or you will never hear the end of it. Shiar’kos and Grand Moff Tarkin fought together in the immediate aftermath of the Clone Wars, and he never misses an opportunity to speak about his _dear friend_.”

That caught Ben’s attention and he looked from the man in question over to Phasma again.

“Tarkin? He knew Grand Moff Tarkin?” He hadn’t recognized any of the names of the teachers, though Pravel’s seemed vaguely familiar. But Thrawn, Tarkin-- those were names that stood out in the histories he’d studied, though he was very sharply aware that the way he’d learned them would be very much different from the way they were taught at the Academy.

“To hear the captain tell it, they were practically brothers.”

Ben looked over the assembly with slightly more interest. These were the old guard, these were the remnants of the Empire. These were the men and women who’d been forced into the Unknown Regions when the Accord had been signed and the Galactic Empire had been effectively neutered. They hadn’t raised arms again; they’d raised children. Children like Hux and Phasma who were now raising up children with designations instead of names. What better way was there to fight back than to create a new generation with bigger ideals and clear intentions? The Empire had adapted and burned out to let the First Order spread its fledgling wings. He thought of the Senate, mired down in their petty arguments about trade routes. The New Republic didn’t know what to do with its children. He himself had been passed around like something that was a burden. If he’d been raised here, he’d be twice as strong. They wouldn’t have treated him like trouble. They’d have treated him like the future.

“It’s a shame I’m not supposed to bring any of that up,” he said, lifting his glass thoughtfully. “I’m really good at listening to old war stories. I spent a lot of time at it.”

“I’m simply warning you to be selective,” Phasma said, shrugging. “I would recommend skipping Shiar’kos’ monologues in favor of his book, which was written ten years ago when his mind was sharper and less prone to exaggeration.”

“Sir, I like, I mean, the colonel is my favorite professor,” Twin spoke up, something in his drink making him braver. “Sir, she really is...she’s amazing, sir.”

Phasma glanced over at Twin, and then looked at Pro, trying to tell the girl that now would be a good time to respond.

“She does have the best stories,” Pro agreed, shrugging. “My favorite professor isn’t here yet.”

“Oh yeah?” Ben looked back to Pro, raising his eyebrows slightly. “Who’s that?” He didn’t know how many people would be here. He hadn’t thought to ask. He didn’t know if everyone here would be a professor at the school, if there were any other officers stationed here. All those questions he hadn’t asked in his effort to avoid speaking much to the master of the house.

“Major Balegan. He’s not a head of any department, so I don’t know if he’s coming. He teaches survival and adaption to the cadets and the troopers.” The way she said this made it sound like it was very impressive. “And in his class, I get to give orders. Even to cadets.”

“Balegan is a big proponent of intense technicals,” Phasma explained, finishing her drink. “He will often kidnap an entire selection of students with no warning and dump them on an offworld moon armed with little else but razor blades and spit.”

Ben laughed as he looked between them. That actually sounded like something he’d enjoy.

“How many times have you been kidnapped, Pro?” He felt better using a name for the trooper; he felt awkward using their designations. People didn’t have numbers. Droids had numbers, and even then, many of them had nicknames, like his mother’s protocol droid. He never called the droid C3P-0 anymore. Maybe hadn’t ever.

“Five, not including the time I was acting as the command point for the technical. Basically I got stuck inside the original transport vehicle because of a _malfunction_ ,” she rolled her eyes, as it to demonstrate how absurd it was, how obviously contrived the scenario had been, “and had to be the boss of all the landed soldiers the entire time. I didn’t even get a chance to see any action, and then my comms kept shorting out and I had to get them to high ground because it started to rain, and then everyone kept questioning me? As if I was the one who got them stuck on the planet, and it wasn’t Balegan at all. And then, captain, I’m almost done, I swear.” Phasma looked away from the trooper, not saying anything as Pro continued.

“And then, one of the cadets decided to eat some poisonous fruit? Because apparently they weren’t listening to the well-trained stormtroopers and decided they were just too hungry to wait until they found actual food.” She huffed, gesturing and sipping her drink. “That cadet almost made me fail. Luckily I know enough about being poisoned that I was able to make sure he didn’t die and the rest of the team didn’t eat anything else that was bright red and smelled like stickyfruit.”

Phasma, who did not really want to interject or reprimand a trainee after being asked a question by a guest, had instead turned her eyes upwards, just barely. It was an expression she wore often under her helmet, where nobody could see her. Ben had been grinning through the whole story.

“Well, I hope the other cadets were grateful.” Pro had the gut instincts of a leader, and he wondered what that meant for a stormtrooper. He still wasn’t quite sure how their chain of command went. “Not going to lie, that sounds weirdly like something my dad did to me. As a scavenger hunt for my birthday one year.” He stopped himself as he hadn’t in the past. He’d shared anecdotes about his family freely while he was on the _Falcon_ with Hux. They tasted bitter now, and it wasn’t charming that his father had dropped him on a planet not realizing that there were Force sensitive animals that actually hunted Force sensitive creatures, including humans.

“Most of them were. Cadet Albryn complained to his platoon leader that I had willfully endangered him, and I told him, to his face,” her voice hushed, and her eyes glittered some strange yellow. “That if I had wilfully endangered him, he deserved it for being wilfully ignorant.”

Beside her Twin snorted and Pro turned away, covering her huge shit-eating grin with her hand. Phasma sighed, looking at Ben as if she were in charge of corralling trainees like this every day. Ben laughed aloud, a little too loud for the party, but he wasn’t used to the hushed parties of disgraced Imperialists.

“Well, look at it this way. You’re here drinking the general’s soda water, and Cadet Albryn is...not.” He grinned broadly at her, feeling his shoulders relax for the first time that day. “If it was an option, I’d buy you a drink.” He held his glass up slightly. “To Pro and Twin, the _Finalizer’s_ newest hotshots.”

The two troopers grinned at each other and then raised their glasses as well. Even Phasma nodded, lifting her own empty glass. They both took small sips, still grinning.

“If you think that’s impressive, you should ask Twin about the time he made a cruiser during one of Balegan’s technicals. Dropped about fifty of us, all troopers, on some system I can’t pronounce, and told us to travel to the other end of the world, because we needed to reinforce another cadet-led fighting tech. Twin made a cruiser from these old downed Rebel ships, and instead of flying right to the tech, we went the other way around and surprised the enemy from behind! Got there a whole damn week ahead of schedule too, and they were expecting sad, sorry troopers, tired from trek, but we showed up fresh as daisies and downed all of them.”

Phasma sighed, rubbing her temple. “If Ben would like to hear about the exploits of your monitored training exercises, I’m sure he will ask.”

“I don’t mind, honest,” Ben said with an open smile. It wasn’t a lie. This was easy, letting other people tell their stories. This was usually when he chimed in with his own. Stories about rescuing his father from the mud pits of Tarn VI, or his perfect piloting through an asteroid storm when he was carting a fresh shipment of Mevellian hallucinogenic wine. But he felt like none of it would be welcome here. Especially not his most recent exploits skimming First Order armaments. “War games are always a little exciting.”

Even though Ben gave his blessing, Phasma’s warning made the trainees quiet, even though they were still smiling slightly. Pro looked at Twin and shrugged, and Phasma turned to get another glass of whiskey.

The mood of the room didn’t change, but it shifted slightly as the general walked in, wearing a more formal version of his normal uniform, belted at the waist, boots polished to an extra shine. He was accompanied by an additional two professors and, behind them, the two highest ranking cadets from the Academy.

While Ben didn’t recognize the professors, he did note that the kids walking so proudly with Hux were cadets he’d seen before. Both of them looked like they’d ascended, being so close to their hero. He remembered the boy first; he was the one Hux had taken a moment to point out in class, who’d had the quick thinking to save his squad during a tech. The girl took him a bit longer, but when he did recognize her, he actually felt a little awkward as he recalled her eyes shining when she’d been the first one Hux had called on to ask a question after his speech. For his part, Hux looked every inch the type of man who deserved that sort of adulation. His dress uniform seemed to elevate him slightly above general. Even in a room full of men and women who’d basked in the presence of lofty personalities like Grand Admiral Thrawn and potentially the Emperor himself, Hux made himself a new and bright presence, someone to be admired, to be watched, to be respected.

Ben fought down the sudden impulse to throw something at him.

From slightly behind Hux, one of the cadets glanced over at their little group, mouth moving as he obviously tried to hide his smile. Ben noticed him because he was trying to hide it. It was such a stark contrast to how well Hux schooled his expression at all times. He imagined that the ever-present helmets made it easier for the troopers to hide what their faces were doing, but the cadets from the officers’ side of the Academy would need to learn to do as Hux did. It took the smuggler a second to realize why they were being observed, and mainly that was because of the little surge in emotion he felt from Twin. He glanced over at the trooper just in time to see him looking down into his drink.

“Oh, I saw those kids earlier,” he commented. “A couple days ago, when I went to hear the officers’ commencement speech. He’s the one with TIE bridge experience, right?”

One of the officers took drink orders from the cadets and Hux, heading towards the bar. Twin glanced up at Ben, eyebrows up.

“He’s Cadet Maiz Uhvem. He’s a really great pilot, and he gets the tech too, sir. Some of the flyboys, they just jump in and go, but Maiz really knows his stuff. He’s even asked me how I do the upgrades. He’s one of the nicer cadets, sir.”

Pro rolled her eyes and made a noise. “I don’t know how he got top marks.” Phasma looked over at her, frowning, but Pro continued. “Uhvem’s always getting into trouble of some kind.”

“It’s not your place to say that, PR-9000,” Phasma said quietly, another warning. Pro pressed her mouth, and her eyes flashed a dark green, the whites of her eyes disappearing, her blood rushed to the surface of her skin, making her seem almost blue.

“Yes, sir,” she muttered, looking down at her drink.

“He always finds a way out of trouble,” Twin said, defending his friend. “He’s a good man. I’d follow him.”

Ben made a thoughtful sound, looking back to the cadets. There was such a clear delineation between the troopers and the officers, more than he’d guessed at. He wondered at Phasma’s position; she was the only sentient he’d met who seemed to have a foot in both worlds.

“Well, looks like the top brass have him sorted for great things too. Will they be be stationed on the _Finalizer_ , do you think? Both of them, right?” He sipped his drink, watching the cadets as an excuse to watch Hux.

Hux was talking to the two young officers, just barely smiling, and for once it seemed as if he had actually relaxed. The cadets were rapt, and the young girl with her hair twisted back in a tight bun didn’t look away from Arrik once. The dark-skinned cadet, however, kept glancing over at Twin, obviously surprised to see him, and pleased about it. Catching the trooper’s eye once, he smiled to himself before turning back to what the general was saying about their new posting.

“I’ve no doubt that you two will find yourselves challenged on board my ship. We run numerous technicals and we provide educational facilities for any officer who wishes to receive specialized training or additional instruction beyond their time at the Academy,” Hux was explaining to the young woman, who had the name Rajj Taede. “Some of the Elect are on board, and of course our Officers are the best trained in the Order.”

Before Uhvem or Taede could comment, several of the Academy professors walked up to greet the general. The cadets stepped back a little in deference to the older officers.

“It’s shaping up to be an excellent party, General Hux,” Shiar’kos commended him, holding one hand out to shake. “We always look forward to having you home on Arkanis for a little while. It’s very inspiring for the cadets to see the _Finalizer_ and her crew.”

Hux turned to the captain, smiling slightly. “It’s always good to come back for a few days, at least. I’m always impressed by the new levels the cadets ascend to every year.” He shook Shiar’kos’ hand, nodding before he turned to Mendus, who also came over. “Professor,” he smiled again. “Good to see you as well.”

“I heard you told the cadets about the battle at Loma V,” Mendus said, smirking slightly. “I certainly didn’t teach you to expose a Destroyer’s undercarriage to enemy blasts.”

Hux chuckled, shaking his head, “No, you taught me to think three steps ahead of the enemy.”

“Judging by those reports, you may have skipped to five steps ahead.”

The cadets smiled carefully while the professors laughed, not sure how much levity they were allowed to display. It felt so good to be included in a group like this, to feel that one day, they would be the ones with lauded maneuvers and remembered battles. Shiar’kos sipped his wine as the laughter subsided.

“You do us proud, Armitage, there’s no doubt to that. Where are you off to next? You’ve got time set down for technicals, according to Captain Phasma. She seemed very insistent on ground time for the troopers.” He nodded over to where Phasma still stood with her young stormtroopers, like ducklings beside her, along with Ben, tall and slightly uncomfortable in his borrowed black finery.

“We haven’t settled on a planet, but it won’t be too far from Arkanis,” Hux said, looking over at Phasma and the small group around her. “Somewhere in the Western Reaches, as we make a tour around the western quadrants. It’ll take almost half a year to get over to the Unknown Regions to supervise the weapon’s production.”

Shiar’kos hummed in agreement with Hux. “There have been more and more ships out there snooping around. I say it’s a good thing we have everything well in hand. I’m hoping to make a trip out there myself in the near future.” As usual, he would likely not travel offworld, but rely on reports that he was sent by others. “The upgraded TIEs are nearing completion, and I want to be there to see their maiden voyages...and to make sure they’re exactly what we expect them to be.”

Uhvem looked over at Taede and smiled a little, unable to keep his excitement to himself. He felt a little giddy, being invited to the general’s mansion like this, standing here to speak in this group (or listen anyway), secure in his placement on board a Star Destroyer with the sort of prestige the _Finalizer_ commanded.

The Korrunish cadet looked over quickly at Hux, the question at the tip of his tongue. Would they be touring the facilities producing the fighter starships? How much hands-on would a lower officer be able to get? He actually pressed his mouth to keep himself from saying anything.

Hux caught Uhvem’s eye, but didn’t respond to the cadet, smiling tightly at Shair’kos. “You’re always welcome on board.”

Shiar’kos glanced over at Mendus, then looked back to Hux over the top of his glass. He took a sip of the fine wine before speaking again.

“And what of the young man you have staying with you as a guest?” he asked carefully. “He’s been much talked about on campus, but never seems to speak with anyone but you and the captain.” He turned to watch Phasma’s group, who were still keeping to themselves.

“Ben Organa Solo is quite a remarkable young man,” Hux said, not looking over at him. “He’s more than eager to talk if you get him started. The trick is getting him to be quiet.”

Taede and Mendus had the decency to look surprised. Mendus glanced over at Ben as well, an expression of intense curiosity and amusement. Uhvem’s eyes had gone wide as soon as Hux had mentioned the name. That must have been it, the other Presence in the room. It must have been him.

“Not Leia Organa’s son, surely?” Mendus asked, staring at Hux with something like amazement and trepidation.

“The only one,” Hux muttered, smiling slightly. Professor Seng Simwe, one of the sentients who walked in with Hux, came back over to the group, followed by a unit who had the group’s drink orders on a platter.

Taede, having fewer politic skills, stared over at Ben, eyes wide.

Shiar’kos made a noise, tongue against the back of his top teeth.

“You’d bring the Rebel Alliance’s brat right here into our midst, Armitage? He doesn’t look like a prisoner to me.” His eyes flicked over Ben critically before he turned back to Hux, obviously disappointed. “You should send his head to the Supreme Leader and the rest of him back to his mother in the Senate.”

“The brat has his own mind, captain,” Hux said mildly, and even though his voice was controlled, his expression completely flat, he felt a sharp spike of anger. He picked up his glass of whiskey, the same brand Phasma favored, and took a small sip, pretending as if he wasn’t entirely furious with the captain.

“Does his own mind preclude execution? You’ve brought the very symbol of the Empire’s disgrace into your own house.” Shiar’kos shook his head, mouth pressed into a thin line. “Leia Organa’s boy, just here on Arkanis for a holiday.”

“Then I suppose it’s a good thing that we are not officers of the Empire, but of the First Order,” he said, eyebrows up as he looked at the professor again. “Ben is an asset, and if you’d like to kick him offworld, I invite you to try.” He took another sip of his drink, glancing over at Ben. “And if you’d like to attempt executing him, I can’t guarantee your safety. He’s often volunteered to be my own target on board the _Finalizer_ , and I haven’t managed to land a blast yet.”

Hux looked over at Shiar’kos, eyebrows up slightly, one hand held behind his back. Arrik Hux was a dead shot, and some of his records had stood up to the past decade and a half of cadets.

“The man is also Darth Vader’s grandson,” Hux said as though it was an afterthought. “I would think you’d want that sort of _symbol_ around.”

Taede stared at Hux now, her dark brown eyes massive, face pale. Mendus made a noise of approval and glanced again at Ben.

“Lord Vader may have been a little taller,” Mendus murmured, smiling slightly. “If Ben Solo has the same aspirations as his grandfather did, I wouldn’t be so quick to condemn him.”

Shiar’kos was indignant as he gestured for Colonel Pravel to join them. She would be on his side.

“The boy is no Vader. Look at him. I have seen Lord Vader. I saw him choke a man for a single disdainful comment. Choke a man without even touching him. Vader had his ridiculous beliefs. That boy, from all reports, is a smuggler like his father. Vader was a trained warrior, dedicated to the Empire.” He watched Ben laugh with the two young troopers, frowning as he looked back to his peers. “We don’t need another kid with a blaster. We need another Vader.”

Hux raised his eyebrows, annoyed and irate. Olm Shiar’kos was a bombastic old man who had his own long-held beliefs and vision, some that Hux would keenly appreciate being separated from. While it was slightly surprising to Hux that he was so quick to defend Ben, it was absolutely infuriating to have his own judgement questioned, especially in his own home.

“I think you’d be surprised by the kind of man Ben is,” he said, his tone again very mild, almost patronizing. “The rumor mill you call a report is woefully lacking.”

Colonel Pravel bowed away from Aldez and walked over to the group, smiling brightly, her dark blue navy uniform a contrast to the grey uniforms around her. She was in her sixties, and near human as far as anyone could tell, her hair cropped short and her hazel eyes bright against her bronzed, olive skin. She had the air of someone who was used to getting a lot of attention and felt as if she deserved it all.

“What is it, boys, got a bet you need to settle?” the colonel asked, holding her hands behind her back.

“Something we could use your opinion to inform, at least, colonel,” Shiar’kos replied, making room in their circle for her. “We’ve been talking about the general’s guest. Or rather, pet project. Have you seen him?”

“Ben Solo?” Pravel asked, eyebrows up. “Sure have. Heard rumors flying around at the exhibition the other day and decided to see if they held water. I saw what he did to that Elect trooper.” Pravel looked over at Hux, eyebrows up. “Not bad for a punk.”

Shiar’kos made a dismissive noise, holding his drink up as though that was somehow making a point.

“As I said. We’re not looking for another soldier. Chop him up and send him home to his mama. That’ll send a message.” He grunted and took a sip.

Hux shook his head, and Simwe excused himself to go over to Baruchiel.

“You are underestimating him, captain,” Hux said, sipping his drink as well. He looked over at the cadets and nodded. They knew enough to recognize the dismissal, and Taede glanced at Uhvem before heading over to the bar herself. The other cadet hesitated a second to look over at Twin again, then decided to take his chances at the bar as well. “He’s more than a soldier, and whatever Pravel saw on a holovid was but a small demonstrations of the kind of powers he has.”

“So, you’re saying the boy plays with the same mumbo jumbo magic his uncle does?” The older man shook his head. “My dear friend Wilhuff had many opinions on the subject of Jedi tricks, and I, for one, share them. I don’t think young Ben Organa can handle a stiff drink, much less anything we are building the First Order on. Pravel, you know these things. You should go and have a chat. See if he’s more Lord Vader or Han Solo.”

Hux made a noise, eyebrows up. “The boy plays at Vader the same way we play at war.” He was almost glaring at Shiar’kos. “If you feel the need to test him, do it yourself. He’d much rather that you challenge him face to face than send our esteemed colonel to do your dirty work.”

Pravel snorted, taking a long drink of her wine. “General, I have no problem with dirty work. At my age, it’s practically my favorite thing to do.”

“I’d appreciate your objective viewpoint, Sabé, before we just press the child of Leia Organa to our collective bosom. Vader’s grandson, indeed,” Shiar’kos scoffed as he finished off his drink. It was not his first of the night.

“What about my viewpoint do you find non-objective, colonel?” Hux asked mildly.

“You seem to have a soft spot where it concerns your guest, my dear boy. I’m still a little unclear how you got him to come along. And while we have certainly seen the subjects of your personal interests rise to great heights, not everyone can be as sharp as your personal captain.”

Shiar’kos set his empty glass onto the tray of the passing server droid and looked to Pravel. “I expect you’ll give young Organa-Solo-Vader a good dressing down. You have a less rosy viewpoint of...well, everyone. I recall conversations where you have even had words of critique for Grand Admiral Thrawn.”

The general might have been fuming, but he didn’t appear in any way upset. He shrugged, looking over at the colonel, who seemed to be grinning even wider.

“Even a Grand Admiral relied on his pilots,” she said, wiggling her eyebrows. “What kind of views are you looking for?”

The older man looked a little flustered and he shook his head.

“Why don’t you just ask him yourself, captain,” Hux said shortly. “Let’s stop this bickering and speak directly to the source of our consternation.”

“Yes, call your boy over here then, Armitage. Let’s see what we make of him.” Shiar’kos signalled to the server droid. He needed another damned drink.

Hux made a noise, bowing slightly to the captain. He turned away, dropping his own glass on a droid and heading over to Phasma and Ben. He lightly touched Ben’s elbow, standing next to him. Twin and Pro instantly snapped to a sharper attention, backs straight, eyes ahead. Hux nodded at them and Phasma, but turned to Ben to speak.

“There are some people here who’d would like to meet you.”

Ben looked over and nodded once; it wasn’t unexpected. Eventually he’d have to make his way through everyone here, he assumed. And they’d ask his name, and he’d say Ben Solo, and they’d say ‘Solo? Like...Han Solo?,’ and coming from them, his father’s name would have the connotation of a contagious disease...He couldn’t say he was unprepared.

“Yeah, yeah, okay.” He looked back to the troopers and Phasma. “Thanks for all the stories. I’m off to shake some hands.” He smiled at them. “I’m sure I’ll catch up with you later.” He nodded to Hux and stepped away from the group with him. “Okay, let’s go.”

Hux turned towards him slightly, dropping his hand. “The woman is Colonel Pravel. Captain Shiar’kos is the piece of scumspawn with more liquor in his head than brains.”

“Well, don’t hold back now, tell me how you really feel about him,” Ben said, glancing over at the waiting professors. “If you hate him this much, why is he at your party? And why do you want me to meet him?”

Arrik pulled Ben over to the other side of the bar, ordering another drink and buying them a few more seconds.

“He’s the head of his department, a friend of my late father and,” Hux glanced at Ben, eyebrows up, “eager to prove that I have risen too fast and without merit. Besides that, he asked to meet you.”

“Oh.” Ben was standing right beside Hux and could feel the indignation rising off him like heat off the desert. Hux needed him to be whatever it was the general had had in mind when he’d tried to dress him earlier. Unfortunately, the smuggler still had no idea what that meant Hux actually wanted.

Hux made a noise as the wine appeared and took a sip before looking over at Ben. “Don’t worry about what he thinks of me.”

“How can’t I? It reflects on me too, doesn’t it?” He set his own empty glass on the bar. “Hey, what does Phasma drink? She recommended a whiskey to me. I’m guessing you stock it.”

“The Gweniael whiskey,” Hux muttered, gesturing the to droid. He took a deep breath, but his shoulders were already set. “It’s not as sweet as what you’re used to.”

Ben ordered his drink, glancing over at group they’d be joining.

“So what do I call you with them? Arrik? Armitage?” He looked away from them to watch Hux’s expression.

Hux’s mouth thinned, and his eyes narrowed on the dark wine. “Arrik. Or general, if you want to remind the lower ranks of their place.”

“Well, it’s not like you call me captain, so we don’t always have to stand on rank.” Ben shook his head and smiled a little. “Why not Armitage? I mean...that’s a name with some oomph behind it.”

“Armitage is a name of the old Empire,” Hux said quietly, taking a sip of his wine, “It’s old-fashioned, Coruscanti politic. It’s the name my father gave me when I was given to him by a kitchen maid he held tight instead of my mother.”

Shaking his head, Hux turned, putting his hand on Ben’s lower back, turning him towards the group.

“Pravel, Shiar’kos,” Ben repeated the names to himself, not given the time to process this new information (kitchen maid, what?), and reached over to pick up his glass when the droid set it down. “Do they...know who I am?” He took a sip of the drink and made a noise. It was strong, and definitely less sweet, though the wood flavor in it was amazing.

“That’s precisely why they want to speak with you.” Hux turned with Ben, leading him back to the officers. The colonel was grinning, looking Ben up and down as he walked with the general.

“Ben Organa Solo. It is a strange and fascinating honor to meet you.” She immediately held her hand out, still inspecting the young man as he approached.

The smuggler had rarely felt so altogether weighed and observed on first glance. He reached over to shake her hand. Colonel Pravel, he repeated to himself. Her handshake was as frank and no nonsense as her greeting.

“Colonel Pravel,” he said, nodding to her. “It’s a similar pleasure for me.”

“Well I doubt that your histories record the dogfights between the Rebellion and Empire mention me as anything more than ‘enemy combatant’,” she said, and as she tilted her head, her hair seemed to glow silver in the dim lighting. “Your name, however, is far more familiar.”

“Which piece of it?” Ben asked lightly, raising his eyebrows as he took another sip of the whiskey. “I seem to have gotten more than my share of familiar names.”

“And more than a fair share of weight. You didn’t get any without a string attached, did you?” she asked as she took a glass of wine from a droid but didn’t drink from it. “We’re most interested your mother’s side, but I’m sure you’ve guessed that.”

“Yeah, while my father gets a lot of interest, it’s not really a bloodline thing. Whatever I got from him doesn’t raise eyebrows like the Skywalker genes I’m carting around.” Ben glanced over at Hux, then back to the colonel.

Shiar’kos had been looking him over as though Ben had tracked mud in all over the carpet.

“Skywalker indeed. Is that a name you use for yourself?” he asked finally, clenching his drink like a weapon.

“Not usually,” Ben said, glancing over at the older man and holding his hand out. “Captain Shiar’kos, it’s good to know you too, sir.” The captain looked resentful, but he did shake Ben’s hand. “My mother was raised Organa and doesn’t really take pride in her birth father’s name. For obvious reasons. It wasn’t an easy confession for her to make to me, to even tell me how my family line actually ran.” He was watching his words and playing the game his mother had taught him. These were the things he was supposed to say. Even in the Empire, there had to be people who’d been afraid of his grandfather, of what he could do.

Hux frowned slightly, looking over at Ben again. Shiar’kos’ expression turned triumphant. The colonel made a noise, frowning as well.

“We fought alongside Lord Vader,” she said, and it sounded like she was almost surprised by the animosity in Ben’s voice. “He was more than a capable leader, and a damned good pilot. Did you know that he ran missions in his own TIE fighter? Wasn’t afraid to get in the shit. Lived for it.”

“No, I...well, I mean, I knew he’d piloted during the Battle of Yavin IV, but I don’t know that much about him flying other missions.” Ben took a deep breath. There was no reason to apologize here. Even if any of them had feared Darth Vader’s power, he was a vital part of the Galactic Empire’s rise. “It’s hard to get information about him in the New Republic that isn’t really biased, you know?”

“Well, son,” the colonel said, eyebrows up. “You should educate yourself. Vader was a son of a bitch when he was in a mood, but he was a man you feared and respected.” She punctuated the two words with jabs to Ben’s chest, poking him hard.

Ben didn’t step back or let her insistence move him.

“It’s a shame that all I can do is study,” he said, meeting her eyes. “I never met my grandfather. I was born after his death.” He took a deep breath, suddenly hearing that deep metallic voice in his head again. “I’m eager to know more about my heritage.”

Beside him, Hux relaxed, but only slightly. He sipped his wine before speaking.

“Ben is leaving in a few days with the Knights of Ren,” he murmured. Ben’s business on Arkanis wasn’t public information, and Hux hadn’t given any explanation for his presence on the planet. “Supreme Leader Snoke himself picked Ben out for training.” There was the implication there that many of the officers would recognize. The Supreme Leader had picked another.

Shiar’kos raised his eyebrows; he wasn’t sure what he thought of the Knights. Obviously, the Supreme Leader knew best, but he thought the Knights should all pass through the Academy and have their weapons gone over by his department first. Proper channels were very important.

“An honor, to be sure, young Ben.” He watched him closely. “And such a strange honor for one who so recently belonged to the New Republic. My dear friend Wilhuff had clear ideas about the training for elite fighters. Ultimate loyalty was obviously the first and most important principle to observe.”

Shiar’kos smirked to himself as he noted Ben’s forehead crease with confusion.

“It almost sounds as if you’re questioning the judgement of the Supreme Leader, captain,” Hux said in an even tone, smiling slightly.

Ben glanced over at Hux, then held his hand up. He tilted his wrist and Force-pulled the glass from the captain’s hand, holding it to his nose when it was in his hand. He made a face. Hux hiding his smirk in his own glass.

“The Grand Moff was a wise man.” Shiar’kos’ mind gave things up before Ben even had to look for them. He wore his pride in his slight association with Tarkin as though it was some kind of earned medal. “However, a new age calls for new ideals, new plans. I’m not your usual soldier, no.” He floated the glass back over to the older man. “But I’m enough of my grandfather and enough of myself to suit the army General Hux leads now.”

Shiar’kos stared at the glass suspended in front of him. So the boy did have Lord Vader’s powers, at least to some degree.

“Take it, captain,” Ben said with a hint of the depth in his voice that only Arrik had heard before. “That’s an old vintage. It’s not to my taste, but we should respect the old things, shouldn’t we?”

Beside Ben, Hux was pleased beyond belief. He was smirking slightly as he watched, and he couldn’t be more thrilled that Ben had taken the old captain for a turn. Now if Ben could just throw the man across the room, Hux would pray for a broken back and they’d be done with it.

The professor kept his eyes on Ben’s as he took the glass from the air. He looked over at Pravel to see her response to the Organa boy’s behavior. The colonel simply chuckled, looking from Ben to Shiar’kos.

“You should see the look on your face, captain,” she muttered, shaking her head. Shiar’kos frowned, sipping his drink to give himself a minute to regain his composure.

“Ben,” Hux said, obviously pleased, “if you’re going to show off, you might as well perform parlor tricks for the entire room.” It was a challenge, almost teasing. It wasn’t a demand or an order, and if Ben denied there was room for him to do so there would be no embarrassing either of them.

Ben glanced over at Hux and smiled a little. No matter what had happened before, this was so new, so exciting for him. This was watching people see what he could do and be excited, afraid, envious. Some of these people had known Darth Vader and suddenly he saw that dark figure as someone to compare himself to.

“What did you have in mind? You’re the host; I don’t want to step on any toes in terms of what you have planned for entertainment.” He paused and sipped his whiskey. “I’ve already done your landscaping.”

Hux made a noise, shrugging. “That might be worth a tour,” he smiled at the look the colonel gave him and chuckled, gesturing towards the back end of the house. “Ben’s practice yesterday got a little out of hand.”

If Ben had any sort of shame he would blush at the joke only he and Arrik would recognize. Instead he smirked, straightened his shoulders a little more, imagining again the ruined garden.

The colonel snorted, shaking her head. “Sounds like a good time, general.”

“That would be one way to describe it,” Hux said, looking over at Ben again. “No planned entertainment. I had hoped that conversation and wit would be enough, but apparently we’re always seeking new distractions.”

Ben looked around the room. He didn’t know what would impress people. He could move anything in the room. He could break windows, he could throw people. None of it seemed like appropriate party entertainment.

He raised his hand and the heavy pennant on the wall, emblazoned with the distinctive Imperial crest, started to ripple as though it was moving in an invisible breeze. He gave an almost negligent flick of his fingers and a holopad on a pedestal came on at once, and the room was full of the sound of stormtroopers marching on parade thirty years before with the Empire’s triumphal march playing behind them. He narrowed his eyes and the lights dimmed, making the holo seem brighter and more vivid.

All the conversations in the room stopped, first watching the fabric and then following the slow tumble of objects that Ben controled. The cadets and trainees both stared openly at Ben, and Phasma, to her credit, turned away to order another drink from the droid before Ben did something that would prevent her from getting it.

The smuggler took a deep breath and looked around the room as the holopad powered down. With the room still dim and the sound of the banner still moving against the wall, he felt the attention. These were parlor tricks, as Hux had said, but there was no polite way to show his power, to let people know that he was dangerous as well. Model TIEs moving of their own volition, a recording of the Emperor’s sibilant whisper from somewhere in the room. These were all Brendol Hux’s artifacts he was playing with. They were toys of an old power, a dead man.

He pressed his mouth and stretched out his fingers, sending a pulse of power through the room. He knew Hux was watching it all, enjoying every display. He was the only person who Ben really wanted to remember. The one who’d be the least impressed. Ben exhaled in a short burst and each open drink was now a little glass of fire in the guest’s hand. All but Pro’s; soda water wouldn’t catch fire.

Ben smiled when he felt the half second vacuum in the room when every person took a sharp breath of surprise. He balled his hands into fists and brought them down sharply. Like that, the room was just as it was. Just a room full of quiet, shocked guests and silent, old mementos of a dead Empire. At the center of the room, he and Hux stood, straight-backed and in control. The only sign that something had happened was the dissipating smell of liquor fumes in the air.

Hux was immensely satisfied. Ben was proving himself to be a senator’s son after all. He looked over at the other man, smiling only slightly, but the expression was far more genuine than most he had worn throughout the night. The colonel whistled lowly, shaking her head.

“You owe me a drink, kid,” Pravel muttered, holding up her extinguished glass and narrowing her eyes at it. “That was something else, huh?” she asked, looking over at Shiar’kos. The captain looked slightly ill. He’d never been comfortable with Lord Vader’s presence, and this boy played with his powers casually, at a joking request from Brendol’s bastard boy.

“It’s certainly quite a trick,” Shiar’kos murmured, looking over at Hux’s satisfied face before raising his eyes to Ben’s expression. No one had ever seen Darth Vader’s face behind the mask. He wondered now how alike they were, the formidable figure and Leia’s son, Vader’s youngest blood. A power like that-- the Supreme Leader had made quite a find. More than that: Armitage Hux had made quite a conversion. For an already too-ambitious second son of Arkanis, this was another bright star in his crown. “Armitage, that certainly outdoes the music at your last dinner, though maybe not the fireworks the year before.”

Ben’s dark eyes slid to look Shiar’kos over; the rest of him stayed perfectly still. For once, he didn’t say anything at all.

Hux made a noise, knowing that the captain was doing enough damage to Ben’s ego on his own that he didn’t really have to do much to add insult. He could see the tension in Ben’s shoulders out of the corner of his eye, and he was sure that the young man would have no hesitation demonstrating some more dangerous angle to his power if only he received the smallest encouragement.

“Ben wasn’t invited to make himself into a spectacle,” Hux said, gesturing slightly with his glass as the droid whirred around, collecting the burned drinks. He glanced at Ben, eyebrows up before turning to Shiar’kos again. “He doesn’t need to prove himself to you.”

The captain glanced back to Ben’s face and even he could see the danger there. He remembered Vader’s inhuman breathing, his imposing shape when he stood beside his dear friend Wilhuff. How he hadn’t spoken at all the first time he’d seen the tall Sith Lord. He remembered the archaic lightsaber hanging by his side, easily to hand though Shiar’kos had never seen him use it. Ben’s black clothing seemed more ominous suddenly, like an echo of the holovids he’d activated before. Shiar’kos found himself double checking the young man’s belt and feeling relieved when there was no weapon there.

“Well, who’s asking Mister Solo to prove anything?” he asked finally with an anemic smile. Hux’s eyebrows raised incrementally.

“No one, I assume,” Ben answered for himself. He kept his eyes on Shiar’kos and the captain wondered how often he’d been fixed with a look like that from behind Vader’s distinctive mask. “Besides, my mother always taught me that it’s impolite to throw guests at a party you’re not hosting.” He watched the captain’s eyes widen slowly with no expression change of his own.

“That’s…” Shiar’kos laughed weakly, though it was very clear he had no idea whether Ben was joking or not. Ben’s ready, crooked smile was nowhere in sight. The captain looked over at Pravel. She had to see how dangerous this boy was. The rest of the room was buzzing with it. Next to Shiar’kos, Professor Mendus made a noise, shaking his head.

“You can mark me down as impressed. No tossing needed,” Mendus said quietly, trying to smile.

The colonel looked over at Shiar’kos, frowning. She shook her head, annoyed that this man had taken what could have been a very interesting evening and turned it into a power struggle. Typical, although she hadn’t decided if it was typical male behavior or typical military behavior.

She decided that she was eager to see the captain taught a lesson in humility.

“Well, captain?” Hux asked quietly, shifting to put both hands behind his back, expression hard. He may have been the youngest officer of the group, but he outranked every individual currently breathing in this room. He was a general, this was his home, and he was not above base intimidation. “You said earlier you wanted another Vader.”

The older man actually flushed as he sputtered for an answer. Darth Vader had been a bogeyman to frighten the insurgency with, a warrior to call in when unique power needed to be wielded. The reality of it was that Shiar’kos had never understood how Tarkin had maintained his composure near the man, if Vader was a man at all. The captain had felt abject terror any time Vader had been anywhere near him. Faced with the return of that type of power, he felt the return of that fear, even as the rest of the room swelled with excitement. Power like that was unpredictable and needed a firm hand to leash it. He watched the young bastard Hux’s face and saw the calm that he had seen in Tarkin’s; he felt again the bitterness of watching another advance before him.

“Can there ever be another Lord Vader?” he asked finally, trying to keep his voice firm with dignity borrowed from the Empire he had served in his prime.

“No,” Ben answered him before he could finish the question. His full mouth was pressed slightly, expression unreadable and slightly uncertain. Shiar’kos saw weakness and pounced.

“Then what good would you be, boy?” the captain snapped, his fear and irritation rising to the surface before he could stop his tongue.

There were only so many insults Ben could take. There was half a second of extreme calm; he heard the rain lashing against the dark windows, he felt those cold, hateful eyes on the back of his neck, he felt Hux inhale beside him.

The only warning was the time it took Ben to raise his arm. Shiar’kos flew back against the wall several feet behind him; the impact rattled a few artifacts on the shelves, but none fell. The captain strained to get his feet back to the floor and gasped against the intense pressure that held him pinned in place against the dark wood. Ben’s mouth worked as he stared at the man; there was no mercy in his face.

Next to him, Hux’s eyes didn’t move from Shiar’kos, held a good foot above the floor. The entire room was absolutely still, and even Phasma, who encountered Ben’s power almost daily, had put down her drink, her bright eyes flicking in between Ben and Arrik.

Throughout the room, reactions varied. The colonel stared at Shiar’kos, frowning deeply; Pro, in the corner, had gone a pale blue, her eyes a shocking shade of white. Most of the professors kept some kind of neutral expression, backs gone rigid, every muscle tight. Mendus’ hand covered his mouth, and Aldez was visibly shaking.

Hux shifted slightly, turning to whisper in Ben’s ear.

“Lower your hand, take a drink,” his voice was low, approving and so soft. He put a hand on Ben’s back gently, right at his lower back, and his fingers pressed into Ben. “Keep him there.”

Ben couldn’t lower his hand or he’d drop the man, but he couldn’t make his throat work to tell Hux that. Instead, without looking, he threw his other arm out to the side and pulled the fresh drink the server droid was dutifully dropping off to one of the guests into his hand. Keeping his eyes on Shiar’kos’ squirming, he took a slow sip. The liquor was sharp, like tiny prickles around his tongue and down his throat. Hux’s fingers anchored him, like cables running into his spine. It dawned on him slowly. He was waiting for his next command.

There was still no sound in the room. Hux kept his posture, watching Olm Shiar’kos, face and body still turned towards Ben. He felt, intensely, that he and the younger man were connected, wound together.

“Higher,” Hux murmured, keeping his hand pressed to Ben’s back as Shiar’kos’ face turned red from fear and embarrassment. Only a little longer, Ben just had to keep himself under control for a little longer.

Ben’s jaw tightened again and the ice in the glass he held in his left hand rattled. After a pause, he raised his right hand a few centimeters; the small gesture forced Shiar’kos another foot higher on the wall, heels fighting for purchase against the smooth wood.

“Put me down! Please!” Finally, the begging began, frantic and panicked as the realization of a fear that had never come to pass closed around him. “Armitage! Tell him to put me down. Put me down, don’t kill me, please!”

Hux regarded Shiar’kos with an expression of distaste and apathy, as if this sort of display was pathetically beneath him and Ben. He pressed his hand against Ben’s back again, making a noise next to Ben’s ear.

“Do it.” The order was just loud enough to be heard by others. “Slowly.”

For a gut-twisting moment, Ben didn’t know if he was being told to let the old captain down or to kill him. He exhaled shakily. Would he actually have killed a man for an insult? _You’ve done it before_ , a voice whispered in the back of his head. No. The sentient on Tyrakos had been about to shoot them. He’d have killed them both if Ben hadn’t ended his life.

He lowered his hand more jerkily than he meant to, but it was not the type of thing anyone watching would remark on. Shiar’kos slid down the wall slowly, clothing bunching as he strained to touch the ground before falling to his knees. The old man’s shuddered breathing was audible in the hushed room. Ben swallowed and turned away from him; he couldn’t look at the captain. He took a slow drink from the forgotten glass in his hand.

Hux kept his hand on Ben’s back firmly, watching Shiar’kos and evaluating Ben’s state just by the tension he felt in his lower back. Upset, angry, maybe even scared or uncertain. The smuggler felt immobilized, waiting for the repercussions that had to follow.

Mendus went over to the captain, crouching down to help the man up slowly. Aldez came over as well, putting a bracing hand on Shiar’kos’ back. The captain’s face was messy with tears and snot as he stood, letting the other men move him. Colonel Pravel shook her head, glancing at Ben.

“He never knows when to shut the hell up,” Pravel muttered, finally swiping a drink before going over to Commandant Sage and pulling him close to the wall.

The room remained silent and unmoving, even as the few people made attempts to clear the air. Baruchiel and Simwe were silent, staring, as were the young cadets and trainees. Hux frowned, and as if on cue, Major Balegan opened the doors with too much force, causing them to slam against the back walls.

“Aw, Haja’s slag, these damn doors,” the major muttered, turning his back to the room as suddenly as he had entered, fumbling to close the wooden doors. “Arrik!” Balegan called over, immune to or ignorant of the tension in the room. “When are you going to replace these things with real sliders, huh?”

Balegan turned, grinning over at the general, oblivious to the silence that held the company still. Ben had spun toward the door with his hand half raised as though expecting an attack after his display.

Hux smiled slightly, shrugging. “One of these days, I’m sure.” He hadn’t missed Ben’s movement, and his hand pressed against Ben’s back again.

Balegan made a noise, eyes passing over Ben as he walked into the room, grinning. “Yeah, yeah,” he muttered, going over to the bar, attracting enough attention to draw a few of the professors to him, Sage and Pravel walking up to him.

Ben swallowed and let his arm relax by his side again. He heard the conversations swell around where he and Hux stood, felt the emotions battering against his head. It was hard to separate the fear from the excitement, the approval from the jealousy. Hux slid his hand to Ben’s elbow, turning him slightly, walking with him to the doors and quickly pulling him out of the room, enough of the group distracted that it didn’t seem too obvious.

Maiz Uhvem had watched the whole thing from the other side of the room, where he’d been standing by the bar. The moment his glass had caught fire hadn’t been the most remarkable part. Just before that, he’d felt the immense power Ben had sent into the room, that pulse of pure energy that he’d seemed to release without any purpose. As though he was venting untapped power, like he had enough that he needed to rid himself of some of it before it became too much.

It had nearly knocked the cadet over. While everyone else was staring at their drinks, he’d been grabbing for the edge of the bar to keep himself upright. He felt sick in the wake of it. The general’s guest was more than just some visitor. Twin turned towards his friend, tearing his gaze away from Ben to put his hand on Uhvem’s shoulder, leaning into him, asking if he was alright.

Uhvem had thought that maybe Ben was some dignitary from another system being courted by the First Order; they’d had visitors like that before. Investors, even. The cadet accepted his glass of ice water gratefully from the droid behind the bar then pressed it to his forehead.

Whoever Ben Solo was, he was a powerful Force user. The strongest Uhvem had ever known, even growing up in a restored Korrun colony on Harun Kal, where every person felt the Force naturally, as part of their everyday lives. He’d been a child when he’d been taken (sometimes he reflected that he should feel angry or bitter about it, but situated as he was in the First Order, understanding as he did what the Order would bring to the galaxy, he knew it had been the right thing), but he still remembered what it had been like. It had felt like that. At the same time, it had felt nothing like that.

He was grateful Twin was the only one who’d noticed. He’d hidden his Force sensitivity with care, not believing it had anything to do with the rest of the First Order’s aims. He used it where it benefited the Order, knowing it would make him a keener commander one day.

He swallowed and looked up at the trainee by his side. Twin’s concerned eyebrows made him want to just lean into the stormtrooper’s side.

“Yeah...yeah, I’m alright. Thanks.” He smiled a little, though it was weak. “That was...a little intense, huh?”

Twin nodded, frowning. He rubbed Uhvem’s shoulder, making a face of commiseration. “Yes sir. Talk about scary.” He lowered his voice slightly, his eyebrows up. “I’ve never felt that before, I don’t think I...” Twin trailed off, looking around, frowning. “Where’d he go?”

Uhvem didn’t even look up for a minute; he didn’t need to see the visitor to feel him.

“Out through the back…” He licked his lips and took a sip of water; it helped his parched throat. He looked over at Twin, eyes troubled. “Do you think he’s scary?”

“Yeah?” It came out like a question, but it was obvious that Twin held no fondness for the man. “After that? Are you kidding, sir? I didn’t know people could do things like that, sir, I didn’t know it was possible.”

The cadet looked down into his water glass, remembering when he’d felt the danger during the TIE technical. How he was only able to explain why he’d ordered the emergency eject after it had happened, after he’d collected the data from reports. His teachers had been so pleased they hadn’t commented on the fact that it should have been impossible for him to come to that realization before he had the readouts in front of him for analysis.

“It’s not unheard of, though I guess we read about it historically more than anything else.” He looked over at Twin and shrugged. “There’ve always been sentients who could use the Force.”

Twin blinked, still confused. He took a deep breath, rubbing Uhvem’s shoulder again before dropping his hand.

“Whatever he did, I hope I’m never on the mean end of it, sir.”


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> massive TW child abuse for this chapter. despite that, one of my (tiger's) favorite chapters to write. honestly, this one and the next were just great. also because hux is my fave so. i really hope you love this chapter as much as i do!

Outside the drawing room, Hux led Ben away from the group, keeping his grip firm on his elbow. He pulled the younger man into the library, closing the doors softly behind them.

Ben pressed his mouth hard when Hux released his arm. He was expecting the same response he’d gotten in the gymnasium when he’d ended the match with MM-0116. He must have misread the general again, thinking that he wanted to see a display of Ben’s power but misjudging the time. He turned his head to watch the man when he stepped in front of him. Brendol Hux glared down from the wall behind his son, and Ben blinked and focused on Arrik’s blue eyes.

“Kneel,” Hux said quietly, putting his hand on Ben’s neck. His expression was completely neutral, and there was nothing about his bearing that would indicate he was angry or upset. Even the emotions he may have been projecting wouldn’t read as anything other than his unyielding calm.

It was almost a relief to kneel down, taking the burden off legs that were suddenly shaky with leftover adrenaline. He looked down at the floor for a minute, then raised his head to watch Arrik’s face. His gaze passed by the general’s pacific features when the portrait caught his attention. There were deep horizontal gouges over the eyes, shredded canvas where the man’s grey painted eyes had been. He swallowed, blinked, and the painting was whole again. His nails and fingertips ached as though he’d been the one to scratch frantically at the picture. Which was undamaged. He took a deep breath.

“Ben,” Hux muttered, putting a hand on the side of the other man’s head, fingers in his dark hair. “You did well.”

Ben’s attention snapped back to Hux’s face. He wore cool pallor the way the moon did, regally, unapologetically.

“I may have just made it very hard for you to get guests for your next dinner party,” he said quietly, stopping himself from turning his face into Hux’s hand.

“If nobody shows up, all the better,” Hux responded, leaning down slightly, sliding his fingernails across Ben’s jaw, framing his face before sliding his hand back. He spread his fingers against Ben’s skull, holding him still, but not hurting him.

“He deserved it,” his voice was quiet, soft, meant only for Ben. “He’s a loudmouth and a fool, and you should not be spoken to that way.”

The look on Olm Shiar’kos’ face when he’d been pushed back, when he’d been controlled and forced up the wall, even the seconds before his face crumpled in fear, all of it had been seared into Hux’s memory. He knew that it was Ben’s power, Ben’s family, Ben that the other man had been scared of, but he had begged Arrik to save him, turned to the general for mercy, remembering Darth Vader’s temper, his conviction and ruthlessness.

“You will not be Lord Vader,” Hux murmured, leaning down a bit more over Ben, almost curling around him. “You will be better. You will be stronger. You will command the respect he commanded, but you will not be live in his shadow.” It was almost prophetic, and Hux couldn’t remember how many times he had told himself the same thing about his own legacy. “You are more than your makers, and you will be more than your peers. I see you unrivaled, unmatched, unbowed.”

For a minute, Ben couldn’t speak. It was like hearing all of the things he wanted to hear, all at once, when he expected some kind of scolding.

“Yet...here I am. On my knees.” He leaned his head slightly to the side, into Hux’s strong hand at the side of his skull. “They’re all talking in there. Shiar’kos...he’ll have lots to say.”

Hux made a noise. “You could leave at any time. I saw what you did, I know what you’ve done. I have not forced you down.” He pushed Ben’s hair back, resting a hand at the back of his neck. “Old men always speak ill of those who will replace them.”

Ben took a deep breath and let the moment pool around them. The tension in his body melted, leaving behind something new. Satisfaction. He was powerful and there was no reason to be ashamed of it, there was no reason to hide it. Every person in that room, whether they saw him as an asset or as a weapon that could turn on them at any moment, knew exactly how strong he was and how unique he was and how very powerless they were to stop him.

“You know they’re afraid of you too, don’t you?” he asked quietly.

“Good,” Arrik muttered, turning his hand to rub his thumb against Ben’s temple. “They should be.”

The smuggler closed his eyes and focused all his attention on Hux’s thumb, the sensation of the leather just brushing against his hairline. He used it to push back everything else in the house, living and otherwise.

“Arrik.” He licked his lips and tried the name again; it tasted like the wine he hadn’t finished in the master bedroom. “Arrik. They call you Armitage and you let them. When you stand and look down on everyone, what do you see? What do you see for yourself?”

The officer frowned, but only slightly. Armitage was a name he had buried. It meant nothing, deserved nothing. He continued to move his thumb, noting that the repeated movement had a soothing effect on the man. “The path forward.”

“You talk like there’s just one straight line. Like you can’t get lost.” Ben left his eyes closed for another few seconds. “They’re all waiting for you.”

“We’re about to head to table. You may stay here for a while longer, if you’d like.”

Ben opened his eyes and looked up at Hux. All his emotions were visible on his face; he was nervous, he was proud, he desired notice and respect, he wanted praise again.

“What sort of entrance am I supposed to be making?” he asked, corner of his mouth quirking up finally.

Hux made a noise, still rubbing Ben’s temple slowly. “You don’t have to make one. I wouldn’t think you’d appreciate being made into a performance so often in a single day.”

“To be perfectly honest with you, I’m starving. I’d really just like to eat some dinner.” He made no move to rise from his knees though. He wasn’t waiting for permission, not exactly. He was just...waiting.

Hux almost chuckled as he stepped back from Ben. “I believe we only have ten more minutes until dinner’s called. I should go back to the drawing room, but if you’d like to head directly to the dining room, you may.” He paused for a second, watching Ben, his hands held loosely behind his back. “I think it would be best if you came with me.”

Ben heard it, the thing that wasn’t said. Hux wanted him there, beside him, the one artifact of the Empire his father hadn’t been able to collect. There was no reason to argue.

He stood up and smoothed his jacket down, then ran both hands through his hair.

“Sure, why not?” He paused, then snorted with laughter and looked down.

“What is it?”

“I was just...the look on his face when he was first up...like...pinned up on the wall like a bug!” Ben laughed out loud.

Hux smiled, and then ducked his head to hide it, turning away from Ben. He made a noise instead, shaking his head. “You could practically hear his heart from across the room.”

Ben grinned over at the general even though the man wasn’t looking at him.

“All I heard was yours,” he said, still laughing, then pressed his mouth quickly. He swallowed and licked his lips, then stepped away towards the door. “We should go.”

Hux turned slightly, looking over at Ben. He opened the door, gesturing. “After you.”

Ben didn’t quite meet his eyes as he nodded before walking through the door. He paused when they were in the hallway, trying to listen. He wasn’t sure if he should head for the dining room or go back to the room they’d been in before.

“This way,” Arrik turned, heading back to the drawing room, opening the door and going through first, holding it open for Ben to follow him in.

The room quieted but didn’t still, and the conversation continued as Ben walked in. Ben released the breath he hadn’t known he was holding, but otherwise acted as though he’d walked into a place he was welcome. Or if not welcome, a place he belonged above the other people in the room. He ignored the eyes that turned toward him.

He needed a kriffing drink.

As he walked through the room, he was unsurprised when the guests fell away from his path. He felt exhausted by the time he made it to the bar.

“Something that’ll burn,” he instructed the waiting droid.

Hux watched Ben go, glancing at Phasma before he went over to join Simwe and Mendus. Shiar’kos had taken a seat and was nursing a drink, speaking with Aldez who seemed to have taken over care of the shell- shocked captain.

Phasma left her young trainees to fend for themselves, heading over to stand next to Ben at the bar. Ben glanced over at her and smile slightly, shrugging one shoulder.

“I know, I know, you’re unimpressed,” he said then took a sip of his drink.

“I didn’t say that,” Phasma muttered, turning her glass on the counter. After two glasses of whiskey she had switched to water. “I just hope I don’t get thrown against the wall when we spar next.”

Ben winced and looked down at his glass. The hard-won relaxation in his shoulders disappeared again.

“You know I won’t, Phasma,” he said quietly. “I could have...I mean, these aren’t new abilities. I’ve been like this since before you met me.”

Phasma chuckled. “Someone’s getting touchy.”

Ben looked over at Phasma with a slight relieved smile. At least she was still normal. The galaxy could churn on.

“Well, I’m a little concerned I’m not going to be able to lift my arm without everyone around me hitting the deck.” He took a deep breath, feeling more like himself. “Which should make dinner fun every time I reach for the salt.”

“You’d be surprised how quickly these people bounce back from abject punishment,” she said, turning slightly. “You should talk to Colonel Pravel. She really is as good as the stories make her out to be.”

Ben turned to find the colonel in the room. All the guests were military, but her bearing had not relaxed with the years. She looked as though she was ready to fight a war right now. He looked back to Phasma.

“Grand Admiral Thrawn’s buddy, huh?” He made a noise and finished his drink before setting the empty glass down with a thud. “Do you guys have any, by the way? Grand Admirals?”

“Just admirals.” She took a sip of her soda, gesturing towards Hux. “He’s not slated for a promotion yet, but he’ll be there soon.”

“To admiral?” Ben’s eyebrows flicked up as he looked back to Hux. He felt his thumb against his temple, heard his quiet, sure voice urging him on. “And then what? That’s the top and he’s, what, thirty years old?”

“He’s thirty three. He’s had an unprecedented rise, but not undeserved.” Phasma shrugged, pushing back her short blonde hair.

“But after that?” Ben insisted, still watching the general where he stood speaking to several of the professors whose names Ben didn’t remember.

“After admiral?” She shrugged again, making a noise. “The First Order is only growing. He won’t be wanting for projects.”

“Mm...no, he won’t.” Ben licked his lips and stood up straight, turning to lean his back against the bar. “And you? I doubt you’ll be content with ‘captain’ much longer.”

“You say ‘captain’ as if I’m an ranked within the same system as Arrik.” phasma smirked, shifting to stand up, looking out at the party. Ben raised his eyebrows, turning his head to watch her expression.

“I guess...that’s exactly how I thought it worked?” He laughed a little, looking down at his boots. “And I’m now guessing I was wrong.”

“I’m a trooper, Ben. An officer, but a stormtrooper above that. Troopers don’t get rank, there are just squad leaders, platoon leaders, legion leaders,” she explained gesturing. “I told you a few days ago. I’m the only one.”

“Yeah, you said that, but I didn’t think…” Ben paused, eyes on Hux again. “How are you the only one, Phasma?” It had something to do with him, he thought to himself without any slight sense of doubt. Hux was engineering his perfect team. Phasma was an integral part of that.

“I met Arrik when he was still a cadet,” Phasma said, looking around the room again and then turning back to Ben. Ben raised expectant eyebrows.

“You were training here too? As a cadet or a trooper trainee?” he asked, turning to ask the bar droid for a soda water.

“A trooper. I was top of my class,” Phasma said, watching Ben. “I was a few years ahead of Arrik, but he asked me to spar with him. I beat him every time, but he got better.”

Ben didn’t doubt that for one second. He kept his eyes on the general as Phasma spoke.

“The trooper program was still being perfected, but it had been updated, changed for the needs of the First Order. Arrik knew that in order to become a more perfect military, the troopers couldn’t be seen as they were under the Empire. They needed status, respect.”

Ben frowned and looked back to her, afraid he’d somehow missed a portion of the story.

“Wait. But...he was still a cadet at this point? Right? What involvement would he have with the trooper program? He was a kid.” He sipped his soda water.

“He was,” Phasma said, drinking from her glass, “but if you think something like age is going to stop Arrik, maybe you don’t know him well enough.” She shook her head, snorting. “He found a way to adjust some of the programming, and we were slated to leave at the same time. He came up to me before we were got our assignment and he told me to follow him. We stayed on the same ships for years. By Arrik’s engineering, I’m sure.”

Again, Ben had no doubts. Coincidences didn’t happen to Arrik Hux. He made things fall into place.

“And I’m guessing you excelled and were consistently team leader on every mission.” He shrugged. It wasn’t difficult to imagine Phasma as a young stormtrooper, intense and strong and unopposed. She had natural leadership qualities that he didn’t see in most of the other troopers he’d met. They might be able to take a lead in a small situation, but none of them had the broad sight Phasma did. It hit him, suddenly, that Phasma couldn’t be her name. She must have a designation like every other stormtrooper. The realization made him feel uncomfortable with the numbering system all over again.

“Every time. I didn’t see Arrik much; he was an officer, but somehow he managed to keep an eye on what i was doing. We practiced together in the shooting range, and he told me that there was a test coming up. I got temporary legion command four rotations later, and after that mission I was pulled into a meeting room.”

“Let me guess. You passed the test with flying colors?” Ben asked, eyebrows raised.

“I was the first trooper to obtain a true rank since the Clone Wars,” Phasma said, smiling slightly. “Arrik was there, said he would supervise the new order of stormtrooper grades, and he did. Simple as that.”

The pride in her voice was unmistakable, as was the fact that it was twofold. She was proud of her own accomplishments, as well she should be; she had gained an impossible position within the Order. She’d become a captain when she’d been brought up to follow orders. Yes, she was still following Hux’s orders, but everyone everywhere had a higher order to follow. At the same time, she was also obviously proud of Arrik and his accomplishments. His youthful rise to power, his method of maintaining it, his unassailable belief that he was climbing ever higher. She believed in him, and for a woman so straightforward and honest, that held a lot of weight.

“Simple as that,” Ben repeated, raising his glass but not drinking anything. “You earned that distinction, Phasma. You’re better than most of the Academy-trained officers.” He had a feeling she already knew that.

“You don’t need to tell me what I’ve done,” Phasma said, standing up straight as a small bell rang, indicating that it was time for the company to move towards the dining room.

“Take the compliment,” Ben said, setting his glass down on the bar, “Or I’ll try to insist that I should escort you into the dining room.” He smiled crookedly at her, then pushed himself away from the bar.

Phasma rolled her eyes as she walked beside him. Ahead of them, Twin and Cadet Uhvem were speaking with their heads together, gesturing about the finer points of the advanced TIE Aggressors versus the more specialized TIE Interceptors, and the new prototype Intervention. The two of them brought up the last of the group, and Hux stood at the door, holding it open for them.

Ben nodded to the general as they passed him.

“Please tell me you seated me next to Shiar’kos,” he muttered under his breath in Hux’s direction.

“As much as I would have enjoyed that, no. You’re on my right. Next to you is Parvel. Sage is on my left.” Hux shut the door behind himself, walking with Ben through to the dining room. Ben glanced around the room; there were none of the shadows in the corners that breakfast left in here. The whole room was brightly lit, with floating candle droids around the table to even give some extra light for the guests. The smuggler walked over to the the chair Hux had indicated, seeing the glowing datacard with his name on it set by his water glass.

As he walked to his place, he glanced around the table, feeling the dip in conversation that his presence engendered. He paused a moment, then pulled Hux’s chair out for him as the general walked around the side of the table to join him.

Hux raised his eyebrows but didn’t say anything, nodding at Ben as he sat down. Ben didn’t smile with his mouth, but his eyes were a little lighter as he moved over to take his own seat. The table seemed slightly breathless, though Ben was surprised at the way the emotions had shifted. Of course the fear was still there, but the growing, almost swelling, sensation that filled the room was excitement.

They had Darth Vader’s grandson, and he was the promise of everything his family could have accomplished for the Empire.

Hux looked around as he was seated, smiling at the table. Shiar’kos was the only sour face of the company, and even he had managed to school his expression into something attentive and focused. Droids whirred overhead, pouring wine for the guests, and Hux raised his glass after it had been filled, prompting the rest of the table to do the same.

“To order,” he intoned, his voice carrying. There would be time for speeches later. The response was rote, tonal, and resonated even in the full dining room.

“To order,” the chorus echoed.

Ben held his glass up, but his eyes scanned the table. He’d never been in this position before. He wasn’t the guest of honor here, but suddenly he felt that sort of importance. He was someone to be respected. These people saw his powers as having no limits; he didn’t answer to them and they had no way of knowing how strong he was. Glancing over at Hux as he sipped the wine, he knew that he wouldn’t disappoint.

He set his glass down, having barely tasted the wine. He was not going to get drunk and stupid tonight. Not when he felt so on the verge of becoming. He looked over at the colonel seated next to him and smiled a little.

“We didn’t really get a chance to talk before, colonel, but every person I’ve met has ample praise for your exploits during the war as well as the way you maintained your opposition to the fledgling days of the New Republic.” He shrugged one shoulder. “You’re probably not surprised that I didn’t really learn that much about it growing up.”

Hux watched Ben turn to Pravel and smiled a little, shifting to speak to Sage as the communal first plates of food were put down on the table; a selection of fruits, cheeses and cured meats.

Colonel Pravel grinned, taking a small loaf of bread and splitting it, putting half on Ben’s plate. She made a noise, taking a hunk of cheese for herself and then looking over at Ben, eyebrows up.

“I can’t imagine you did,” she said, smirking. “I doubt you would have heard anything about the New Republic that didn’t shine it in the kindest light.”

Ben spread his hands, a slightly self-mocking gesture, before he reached for a dish of butter. The professor who had been reaching for it as well immediately pulled his hand back.

“You might be sort of surprised what I’ve heard, but I can say that the stories about the early days are very sparkly and already shine with the luster of epic history.” He widened his eyes slightly at her, then laughed as he looked down to butter the bread.

Pravel snorted, spreading the cheese over her bread. “Of course. Not to disparage anyone’s mother,” she glanced over at Ben, eyebrows up. “But the New Galactic Republic was a sorry state of loose alliances for nearly fifteen years. We stepped up when they were still drowning in their own self importance.” She made a noise, shaking her head. “Not as if that near history has anything to do with the era of _opposition_ , as you’ve so sweetly put it.”

Ben didn’t tell Pravel about his early memories of the New Republic, his mother handing him off to minder droids or assistants when she had to rush off to urgent meetings. He hadn’t known what was going on, only that Leia always had other places to be. He reached for his water glass and took a small sip.

“If you’re hinting that you have war stories, colonel, you’re teasing me. What do I need to offer up to get some tales about your pilot days? You escaped...the first Death Star? The second?” He set his glass down and tore a small piece off his bread.

“Both,” she said, eyebrows up. “I was flying both times, defending the weapons.” She shrugged, taking a sip of her wine. “During the first attack I was a TIE Pilot, the second Death Star saw me at full lieutenant. I was one of the ships directed to tail your old man’s vessel when it appeared over Endor.”

He’d heard both parents’ version of the battle of Endor; obviously, the end result was the same, but the number of Han Solo’s minor screwups varied depending on who was telling it. There was no other side. The Empire lost, the Death Star was destroyed. Darth Vader was Anakin Skywalker, and he’d saved his son. Or that’s how his uncle Luke told it anyway.

“My dad wasn’t even flying it,” he said finally, as though that was something interesting to her, something he could offer up for the conversation. “He was on the surface already.”

“I heard the reports,” she said, shrugging. “Although I also heard that their success was due in no small part to a feral tribe of Ewoks.”

“Hey! Some of my best friends are Ewoks!” Ben laughed to show he was joking, looking down to tear his bread again. Rather than eating, he was creating a small pile of bread chunks on his plate. He had spent a glorious vacation as a child with his parents and the natives of Endor, several weeks of climbing trees and picking berries and dancing half naked long past his usual bedtime. But for Pravel, that had to be a joke. The man he was tonight had never done those things.

“Mm,” Pravel shrugged. “Whatever allowed for their victory on the surface had nothing to do with me.”

Ben licked his lips and looked over at the colonel. He’d met plenty of veterans who’d fought with the Rebel Alliance. Shiar’kos had tossed Grand Moff Tarkin’s name around in the manner of a man who claimed closeness only now that there was nobody alive who would say otherwise. His _dear friend Wilhuff was_ more likely to be an acquaintance than a peer. But Sabé Pravel had the same pride as the veterans his parents called friends, but a hard streak of bitterness that came from being a surviving fighter from the side that lost.

“So when the Death Star exploded...what did you do? How did you know where to go? With the Emperor dead...Vader dead…?” He shrugged but didn’t look down this time. “Who took command?”

“Well, kid, Palpatine was always a planner, but he had a unique talent for controlled chaos. The Grand Admirals were supposed to convene and establish a new Head of Power, but ended up being so fractured and dissident that nothing ever got accomplished. A failure of command,” she shrugged, taking some more of the charcuterie onto her plate. “Thrawn should have been the first choice of anyone with half a mind, but a majority of the Imperial forces were specist, sexist, impractical bigots, and decided that simply because the man had blue skin and a penchant for felines he wasn’t good enough to be their commander.”

Pravel shook her head, as if the very thought of excluding the Chiss officer was ludicrous. The cat comment brought up several questions for Ben, but he restrained his curiosity for the moment.

“Us space jocks and dataheads, we didn’t have much of a choice but to find an admiral and stand by them; there wasn’t any other place for us. The New Republic wasn’t taking chances with Imperial soldiers, and there were stories of surrendered legions, thousands of troopers without a leader who had given up arms, who were killed because the Republic didn’t trust them not to go back to their initial training. Probably the right call, looking back at the kind of bucketheads we had, but still. It was enough of a warning that the rest of us stayed away. We knew we couldn’t expect open arms on Coruscant or Hosnian Prime.”

She took another sip of her wine, looking back over at Ben. “You just sort of picked your favorite and went to wherever they were. Not the brightest example of military order, but that’s the way Palpatine planned it. The Empire was supposed to die with its Emperor; he just didn’t count on dying.”

Ben knew there were Imperial officers who’d been pardoned, who’d gone back to their planets to live out their days in peace. At least, he thought he knew; he’d been very young when those trials had gone on. He’d never participated, or even been old enough to know exactly what he was hearing when those around him spoke about the tribunals. There were so many versions of history, so many ways to spin out a thread. For a moment, he felt himself dangling at the end of it, stomach heaving with painful uncertainty. He turned his head sharply to look at Hux as though the other man was any kind of anchor. He couldn’t be, really. Arrik Hux was hanging by the same thread. Ben took a deep breath and looked back to Pravel.

“So you took up with Grand Admiral Thrawn. You were involved in the attacks on Coruscant?” he asked.

“I was,” she said, smirking slightly. “Bet you read about that one, huh?”

Ben kept his face calm, drawing on both his Jedi training and his mother’s teachings. He didn’t show any of the remembered panic, the fear he caught from the people around him. Crying as Leia told him to hush and not even knowing why he was crying, other than he could feel the anxiety and breathless fear that his mother wasn’t showing the rest of the Senate.

“I don’t remember much about my own experiences there at the time, but it was part of my curriculum later on,” he said. “Obviously, we learned about it in a very particular way.” That hadn’t been peace, that had been terror, with the New Republic woefully unprepared to deal with the remnants of the Empire. He knew that if someone like Thrawn reappeared now, they’d crumble like dust. He intended to never feel as infected by fear as he was that day.

Pravel shrugged, taking another sip of her wine, sitting back as the first course was cleared.

“It was an incredible tactical battle. The intent was never to destroy the seat of the New Republic, at least, I was never made aware of that directive.” She adjusted the soup bowl as it was placed in front of her, placing a napkin delicately on her lap, “and I was given orders from Captain Pallaeon directly. ”

“Captain Pallaeon,” Ben repeated to himself. There were names he’d glossed over when reading; history was filled with names and dates that were hard for a restless child to remember. He glanced down at the soup, disinterested, before turning his attention back to Pravel. “What was your directive then?”

“I directed the starboard flank. Our directive was not to overwhelm the Coruscant forces, but clear the path for the Star Destroyers to get a clear shot at the Golan battle platforms. For so long the Empire relied on sheer numbers; a holdover from the Clone Wars,” she shook her head, taking a small taste of the soup that smelled faintly of olives and herbs. “Obviously that wasn’t going to work. ”

“Obviously,” Ben echoed, frowning slightly as he reconciled what he remembered from his reading. “Grand Admiral Thrawn had amassed quite a fleet, hadn’t he? A good number of the Imperial vessels.” He remembered someone (Who had it been? A man’s voice.) yelling about asteroids before the booming noises and the screams that even covering his ears hadn’t muffled.

“It was a significant fleet for the independent Grand Admiral, but still a much smaller armament than he would have used during the height of the Empire,” Pravel explained, only having a few more spoonfuls of her soup before sitting back and looking over at Ben. “Were you on world?”

Ben met her eyes before nodding. He hadn’t actually thought about it in years, hadn’t thought about the tall blue bogeyman who’d been equal parts terrifying and exciting in his imagination after reports came that the Chiss was dead and the Senate had been removed to Hosnian Prime.

“Yeah. I was a kid, living with my mother at that point.” He took a deep breath. “Like I said, I don’t remember the siege very clearly.”

“Probably for the best,” she said, shrugging. “Heard the entire thing had Mothma and Iblis with their panties tied up in absolute knots for months.”

“I was too young.” Ben sat back from the table. “I remember there were rumors about Thrawn coming back, after that. Apparently he had clones made? I don’t know. I never got clear information. I was just the kid listening in the back of the room.”

Pravel snorted, taking another sip of her wine. “You believe that Bantha shit? Thrawn wasn’t about to risk everything on a clone copy. There’s no guarantee that the clone would end up operational, that it would receive the right training.” She shook her head, smirking. “Imagine if someone else got a hold of a clone of Mitth’raw’nuruodo, the kind of havoc they could cause with just his image alone. Besides, the intellect of clones matches the level of their originator, and they’re engineered for docility. Anyone might have been able to raise a clone up to fight for them.”

Hux had turned slightly, looking over at the two of them.

“Maybe we should paint Arrik blue,” Ben laughed, not knowing that the general was paying any attention to them. “Then he can mount an attack on Hosnian Prime and scare the hells out of everyone.”

“The red hair gives him away,” Pravel said, grinning over at Arrik, who shook his head, smiling slightly as he reached for his wine. (He was being accommodating; these were his guests.)

Ben laughed again, and to be honest, there was nothing scary in his laugh at all. It was loud and genuine, a smirky smuggler’s laugh that didn’t try to hide his amusement. He followed Pravel’s gaze and ended up meeting Hux’s eyes. He didn’t dampen his smile at all.

“What do you think, general?” He held his eyes, reaching over for his water glass again. It was Hux’s, just as it had been last time. He habitually grabbed the wrong way at the table.

“I think it will be much more satisfying when I mount the attack as myself,” he muttered, sipping his wine, still holding that slightly indulgent smile.

That smile was more difficult to read than the man’s usual stoic expression. For a moment, Ben could almost believe that he was serious, that he would actually lay siege to the seat of the New Republic’s government on Hosnian Prime. But really, was that something the First Order was prepared to do? They had their Unknown Region holdings, which were expanding all the time. The Senate was no threat; they could barely get together to pass a resolution on what color to paint the main building on the common.

Ben laughed a second too late, shaking his head as he took a sip of his water.

“I don’t know. I feel like you’d look great in blue,” he said as he set the glass down, then picked up a spoon. He should try to eat something, he decided, even though his stomach was still uncertain about the evening.

Hux turned back to Sage, chuckling lowly. The second course was brought in, a fresh salad with cheeses and dried fruit on top. Ben watched his soup go with only a mouthful gone from the bowl. Ignoring his salad, he looked to Pravel again.

“When did you come to the First Order? I’m still a little unclear where the remnants of the Empire stopped and the First Order began. After Thrawn was killed...that had to be a really uncertain time. Palpatine’s death all over again.”

“Almost,” Pravel shrugged, eating the candied walnuts and cheese off the top of the salad while ignoring the fresh leafy greens underneath. “The First Order has been around for just about twenty years. Thrawn may not have started it, but he brought together the conglomerate of minds that created the official organization.”

“And then Arkanis Academy was back in business,” Ben commented thoughtfully. “So you must have worked with Commandant Hux then, back in the day.”

“Of course. Brendol kept this Academy going, even when the Empire was failing. He was one harsh, bitter old man, but he knew how to run a tight ship. Used his own money to make sure this place stayed around, even bribed a couple senators to look the other way,” she said, picking out a fresh green tomato and popping it in her mouth.

“Republic...well, I guess at the time they were the Rebel Alliance, but they all thought Brendol Hux had disappeared after the Battle of Jakku. The Senator from Arkanis confirmed that he hadn’t returned and that the buildings had been completely emptied, preserved only for the history of Arkanis.” Ben watched the colonel for a moment, then decided he should pick up his fork at least.

“Brendol came back,” Pravel said, shifting in her seat again. “He was one of the reasons the First Order recovered so quickly. He sent officers out to establish trooper academies, re-establish a presence in the western regions as well. Arkanis served as a base of operations for a few years.”

“What about Arrik?” Ben asked after a moment. “And his mother? Did they stay on Arkanis the whole time?” He’d figured out the general’s age throughout the conflicts, based on the information Phasma had given him earlier. Unlike Ben’s “victory kid” status, Arrik would have been born before the Empire fell. He would have been brought into his parents’ life as a symbol of Imperial legacy, then all of a sudden, his future had imploded.

“Yep, lived in this mansion most of of his life I believe. Maratelle Hux was born somewhere in the mid-core, but she stayed here until she died.”

“I saw a picture of her here in the house.” It was so strange to say picture, so strange that Brendol Hux must have felt it necessary to capture his own face and that of his wife in an ancient style. It was strange to know from Hux’s dismissive comments that there was a reason there was nothing of Maratelle Hux in Arrik’s face. She raised him, but hadn’t given birth to him.

“I’m almost surprised the general keeps anything of theirs around here. He’s never here, but still,” she said, eyebrows up, finishing up the salad, leaving just plain greens on her plate.

“Why’s that a surprise?” Ben asked, all of his earlier curiosity about the general’s family rushing back. “It’s pretty normal to keep your parents’ stuff around. Especially if they’re dead, right?” He was speaking quietly, very aware of Hux beside him.

Pravel sipped her wine, looking between Ben and Hux. She shrugged and shook her head.

“You can ask him yourself.”

Ben exhaled slowly. There were so many jagged pieces in the story around Arrik Hux. Every time he’d thought he’d found edges that fit, he’d been wrong. But asking the other man to put the puzzle together with him was difficult. He thought of the picture without eyes. He thought of the seconds that haunted him when Hux had ceased to be. He thought of the hand on his back with his strong fingers insistent as though he could push them right through the flesh to meet his spine and compel him directly.

“Yeah, eventually I guess I will. You know...I haven’t actually even known him that long.” Ben wrinkled his nose as he counted back. “It’s really a few months. That’s it. Isn’t it weird when time passes and you lose track of it, but you still think you’re back near the beginning?”

Pravel made another noise, shaking her head. “Kid, you haven’t been around long enough to sound so weary.”

Ben looked over and laughed a little, shrugging as he sat back to let the server droid take his untouched salad. He realized he was still holding the kriffing fork.

“It’s been a busy couple of months,” he told her, shaking his head once. “So tell me this, if you can. How come you’re not afraid of me?”

“Well I’m not about to insult you, your family, or your beliefs, so I think I’m safe,” she smirked at him, drinking some of her water. “Besides, you don’t seem entirely unreasonable, and I feel as if you’re a man in control of yourself, so no, I’m not going to be afraid of you just because you’ve got the Force hanging off you like creeper vines.”

Ben was flattered by her confidence in his self control. He didn’t have that much faith in himself sometimes. He leaned back to allow the server droid to set the covered dish down in front of him and took a breath of the fragrant steam released when it lifted the clear cover away.

“No one’s ever described it like that before,” he smiled as he looked back to the colonel, then down at his food. He thought of his grandfather again; this would have been some of the company Darth Vader kept as the Empire grew and expanded and then attempted to crush the rising rebellion within their borders. But he wouldn’t have ever sat down to eat with them, would he? He’d have always been trapped behind that dark helmet.

Pravel made a noise, shrugging. “Lord Vader was the only other man like you I’ve ever met.”

As the salads were taken away, her eyes followed the droids as they brought the main course, placing down elegantly prepared racks of lamb before each diner. The exceptions were Simwe and Uhvem, both of whom received a main course of a mushroom pasta. Laid out on the table were a trio of gravy, tomato sauce, and a mint chutney alongside communal bowls of side dishes; tubers of some kind, pale asparagus, sprouts. It was apparent that this would be a much longer affair than the original dishes. Ben hoped that maybe he’d get a chance to eat some of it.

Hux shifted, standing up and looking over the dining table. He raised his glass, smiling slightly.

“Colleagues, officers, graduating members of Arkanis Academy, thank you for joining me. I am only ever proud of your accomplishments, and I look forward to seeing your achievements in the future; next year and beyond.” He paused and then nodded, raising his glass again a little higher. “To the Academy and the First Order. May the sun shine on us tomorrow.”

It was traditional, the planet’s collective blessing. The rest of the seated men and women raised their own glasses, murmuring assent or some variation of the toast. At least when Hux stood up they knew that there wouldn’t be any long-winded speeches involved. Ben watched everyone a moment longer before taking a sip from his own glass.

The general sat down and glanced at Ben, shifting to pull his seat in a little more. Around them, the officers immediately started cutting up the lamb chops, the sauces and side dishes passed around in an informal manner, slightly out of place considering the setting.

“So, is this a traditional meal or a favorite one?” Ben asked Hux, eyebrows raised slightly. He turned away for a moment to accept the dish of herb sauce Pravel handed him, then looked back to the general. He wondered if the other man modeled these events on the dinners his father must have held. Had Arrik been invited, a small child standing by the legs of men and women he knew he should emulate? Or had he been kept quietly in his room, eating alone while his parents entertained downstairs?

“Traditional,” Hux replied, taking only a few bites of the lamb before accepting the sprouts from Commandant Sage. He glanced over at Ben, eyebrows up. “But I happen to like it well enough.”

Ben made a noise as he looked down to spoon the sauce into a little puddle on the edge of his plate. He held the bowl over to Hux, other hand out for the sprouts.

“I’ll trade you.” He wiggled the fingers of his free hand. He wondered how much consternation he could cause by Force yanking the salt down to their end of the table.

Hux raised his eyebrows at the gesture, but did as Ben asked, taking the gravy and adding some to his plate before placing it on the table. “Think you could make a meal like this?”

“Mm, I’m pretty sure I could. Given the ingredients and the time.” Ben accepted a dish of sliced root vegetables, forgetting to take any as he passed them to Hux. “My dad found a datastick of Alderaanian recipes once. We spent forever planning a meal for my mom, four courses. It was a disaster.” He paused awkwardly as he remembered who he was sitting with.

“I’m sure that she appreciated the thought,” Hux said mildly. It was almost patronizing, as if he had no idea how someone could just appreciate the idea of something without any real execution of it. What good was an idea if there was no result?

Ben’s jaw tightened, hearing the gentle slight in the comment.

“It still tasted good,” he said defensively. “It was just a lot of cleanup afterwards.” He pressed his mouth, then reached for Hux’s water glass again to soothe his dry throat. The table was covered by the quiet commotion of a meal. Conversations had risen up again as the mood eased, aided by the impressive wines the general served to go with dinner.

The officer watched Ben take the wrong glass again, for possibly the fifth time that evening, and shook his head. “You’re leaving me dry, you know.”

The smuggler looked over at him, expression confused.

“What’s that mean? I think I’ve done everything you needed this evening.” He drained the glass and set it down again.

Hux sighed. “You’ve taken my water.” He gestured over at the glass that Ben had left untouched. “The glass, please.”

Ben shook his head, frowning slightly.

“Um, no, that’s the colonel’s water. Your water is over there.” He pointed to the half empty glass on Hux’s other side.

“That’s the Commandant’s,” Arrik said, almost tired. “Ben, please.”

Ben winced and picked up his actual cup, passing it over to Hux. This was not the first time he’d done this. This wasn’t the second or third time he’d used the wrong glass at a formal dinner. Some things stuck, but which side his water would be on did not.

“Eh, you could have just shared mine,” he said with half a smile.

“Mm,” Hux made a noise, taking the water and drinking from the glass before turning again to speak to Sage and Phasma, pushing his plate to the side. He did enjoy lamb but had barely touched it, preferring company to dinner.

By the time dinner had finished, Ben had eaten a quarter of a meal, though he didn’t feel hungry. Satisfaction sat warm and comfortable in his belly and he found himself drawn into conversation as the party left the dining room for the drawing room again. While they’d been eating dinner, droids had set up small stations of little desserts, tarts with green shells and deep red berries, little cups of bright yellow foam, round silver chocolate balls that shifted to blue as they grew warmer. Ben didn’t recognize most of them and wondered if they were delicacies brought in from the systems of the Unknown Regions the First Order had taken over already.

He was unprepared for how desireable his company had suddenly become. He was the center of a wheel of people who turned around him, asked his opinions about things, congratulated him on his defection to the First Order. Everyone had a personal anecdote about his grandfather; they weren’t the sort of stories one ordinarily shared with a man’s grandson, but many of them led to grander exploits of Vader’s, his flying prowess, his self-assurance, the fights in which he’d been outnumbered but returned to the Emperor’s side with modest confidence in his continued powers. It was impossible for Ben not to be interested, not to feel excited. Something loosened in his chest, the end of a tightly-wound ball of shame.

Several times, he glanced over to find Hux in the room. He recognized the smile the general wore now. It wasn’t entirely put on, just emphasized slightly for the evening. Arrik was pleased with his party.

Arrik let himself be drawn into conversation, pulled to speak to the trainees, then over to Simwe and Baruchiel, finally discussing some finer points of the newest TIE Intervention models that were being put into production soon. He didn’t fail to notice the way that the rest of the group regarded Ben, with some degree of fascination and approval.

He caught the man’s eye a few times over the next hour as desserts and aperitifs were served, most of which he abstained from. He took a single tart and allowed himself a second glass of Corellian whiskey, which seemed appropriate considering how much he had enjoyed their stock throughout the evening.

Slowly the guests retired for the evening, and after Pravel left, laughing at some dirty joke, Phasma excused herself as well. Arrik and Ben were alone in the drawing room filled with remnants of desserts and ephemera collected from the Empire’s glory days.

The general took a long, deep breath, ran a hand through his hair and watched Ben from his seat on the couch. Ben was looking at a clear box with several insignia bars mounted on a dark wood backing inside, slowly finishing the drink in his hand. He didn’t even know what it was. Major Balegan had insisted that he should try it. The man hadn’t been wrong. Ben appreciated the almost overwhelming spice blend, the way it pushed away the damp chill that pervaded the room even when it was full of light and sound.

Ben turned from the shelf and seemed surprised for half a second that Hux was watching him. He offered a crooked smile before waving a hand at him as though he was at a great distance.

“You look like you could sleep right there,” he commented. The general’s stiff posture had relaxed now that his guests had left the house, and his eyes seemed softened by the evening.

“Mm,” Hux agreed, shifting slightly to sit up a little straighter. “I can still make it upstairs.” He looked over Ben, eyebrows up. “So end your social obligations. There’s not much left on Arkanis until the Knights come.”

Ben took a deep breath, pushing himself away from the built in shelf and walking over to sit on the couch. Rather than taking the far cushion, he sat closer to Hux.

“Do you do this every time you’re back, or is this your annual social obligation?” he asked, smiling a little as he leaned back. Like every other piece of furniture in the entire house, it wasn’t particularly comfortable.

“Just for the graduation. Even if I miss the other calendar events, I do my best to attend the end of year. A few years ago they delayed commencement for my arrival.”

“Important man.” Ben took another sip of his drink. He wished he could remember what it was called. “Professor...Baruchiel? I think? He was talking about you making a holovid tomorrow. For distribution.” His smile was teasing, but not as loudly as it could have been.

“A propvid,” Hux clarified, nodding. “We’re shooting a few. Recruitment, information, humanitarian. There are a couple new lines. We have people-” he gestured vaguely, making a noise. “Who do that sort of thing.”

“You get all dressed up in your dress uniform, sing, dance a little?” Ben smiled outright, leaning his head back against the cushion and closing his eyes after a moment of looking up at the ceiling.

“More or less,” the general agreed, in no mood to defend whatever small amount of pride Ben was trying to poke, taking another sip of his whiskey. He glanced around the abandoned drawing room and shifted to stand up. “Are you in need of further entertainment, or can we resign our posts as well?”

Ben glanced over at Hux, too lazy to move more than his eyes. He was pretty comfortable where he was, furniture notwithstanding.

“I wasn’t the one being entertained tonight,” he said with a smile that was as lazy as the rest of him. “Did you enjoy the show?”

“Did you?”

“I asked you first.” Ben sat up and looked down at his drink before finishing it. “Was this a successful evening for you? Better than dinner parties in the past?”

Hux frowned, looking back down at Ben.

“It was fine,” he said, pulling his gloves up around his wrists.

“Did you go to a lot of them when you were a kid?” He didn’t add his own anecdotes about Senate dinners. He just let the quiet question focus on the other man.

“When I was younger I only stayed for a short time,” Hux explained, going over to place his empty glass on the droid’s tray. “I didn’t sit at table until I was thirteen, I think.”

Ben watched Hux, not moving from where he was on the couch. He turned his glass in his hand.

“Did you like it?” he asked. “Did you like your father’s parties?”

“Never,” he responded immediately, turning towards Ben with a slight frown. He swallowed, face still dark, and shook his head. After staring at Ben for a few seconds, he looked down and tooka deep breath. “No,” he said again, more composed, in control. “They were odious crucibles, and occurred far too often.”

“Crucibles,” Ben said quietly. “What did they create? What came out of the crucibles when the parties were over?”

“Convictions,” Hux said quietly. He took another deep breath and looked around. “Are you ready to retire?”

“If you are.” Ben shrugged and stood up slowly. “I have a confession to make.” He smiled and looked up. “I hate sleeping here.”

Hux frowned deeper, looking over at Ben. “Here? In this house?”

Ben kept his eyes on the ceiling, clasping his hands behind his back. He made a noise and nodded. He didn’t need to admit more than that. Already, with the house emptied out again, he could feel those eyes on him again.

“You won’t have to do it much longer,” Hux said, resigning himself to another hour of entertaining Ben. He walked back to the couch and sat down again, gesturing as the droid slid over, a glass of whiskey and a glass of wine placed delicately on the tray. “Drink more. That’s always helped me.”

Ben reached over to take the glass of whiskey as the droid whirred past, then walked back to the couch and sat down in the spot he’d just left.

“How many drinks does it take to make a party disappear? I’m exhausted.” He looked over at Hux and smiled with one corner of his mouth.

Hux made a noise, shifting and relaxing on the couch a little more. “At least six. I’m two behind and afraid I won’t catch up. The memories of tonight will just have to stick around.”

“What about the past parties? Do they linger?” Ben sipped the whiskey; it was familiar though he couldn’t place it. “Or have you canceled them all out?”

“Unfortunately I couldn’t get drunk fast enough.”

Ordinarily, Ben would have laughed at a comment like that. It seemed like the dry humor Hux displayed on occassion. This time he just took another drink.

“You must have attended hundreds,” he said after another long moment. He thought of Hux’s smile that was only strained if you knew what to look for. He thought of the insignia on the shelf, safe from dust in its container. “How did he treat you at his parties? Were you Armitage there?” He thought of the general’s throwaway comment about his parentage. Brendol Hux was his undeniable father, but the woman he’d called mother obviously wasn’t. A kitchen maid, and a secret, and how well kept was it really?

Hux’s expression stayed absolutely still. He swallowed, struggling to find something to say that wouldn’t evoke pity or sympathy. The room around the two of them was still, and any droids that were moving were too quiet or too far away. What could he tell Ben that would satisfy his curiosity and keep his own dignity intact?

“It’s...” He blinked, trying to clear his head, his mind racing through party after party, being a favor, a verbal punching bag, a demonstration. Before he left Arkanis, these parties were barely tolerable, especially while his father played host. Even afterwards, the short while that they still occurred by the Commandant’s invitation, these dinners and events were formal, joyless, and humiliating.

“Not well,” he said finally, frowning. “Not like a son.” Like a failure, like a waste of effort.

Without meaning to, Ben extended himself toward Hux, drawn in by the emotions the cracks in his mental walls let out. They were old emotions, the edges dry and flaking like scabs. He swallowed and looked over at the other man. This close, he could hear him breathing. He could hear the words getting caught in his throat.

He closed his eyes, comfortable and tired and strangely confident because of it. He took a deep breath and brushed his mind against one of the cracks. The memory that peeked around the edge was familiar; it was the flash of pain he’d felt on Tyrakos. This time, however, he didn’t pull back. He kept his presence solid and warm.

Hux blinked, startled by the intrusion, though it wasn’t sharp against his mind. It was a steady pulse, something like a heartbeat and a hand.

“Let me see,” Ben murmured quietly. “Show me.”

Hux closed his eyes tightly, thoughts snapping in fast succession. He needed to keep a connection to Ben. None of his history was of any worth, most was, in fact, public record. Ben wanted the details, the instances and the emotions, and if Arrik was keen to protect them, didn’t that alone give them weight? Didn’t that make them important when he had told himself for so long that none of it meant anything?

He took a deep breath, shifting on the cushion. Ben hadn’t needed any further direction or instruction when he had used his powers before. He nodded once, and then, not knowing if Ben was watching or not, spoke.

“Fine.”

At the invitation, Ben slid his hand over to rest on Hux’s wrist. The contact intensified the connection and he felt his powers curving around the defenses the other man still hadn’t dropped for him.

“Arrik. You have to let me in.” He wasn’t going to force him; he applied no more pressure.

Hux swallowed and frowned deeper, shifting to sit up and pull his arm away from Ben. “Not here.” He stood up, running his hands through his hair to mess up the severe part as his hair fell down. “We’ll do this in my rooms.”

Ben licked his lips as he looked up at the other man. In that room, with those eyes, it wouldn’t just be Hux giving him feelings and sensations, memories of his life. He could go deeper, if Hux let him.

“Yeah, that’s fine.” He stood up as well and looked over at Hux. “I’ll need it to be quiet. Dim. I want you to show me everything.” He walked to the door and opened it with a gesture. “Come on.”

Hux nodded, walking into the hallway and then heading towards their wings, frowning. If he was going to do this, he would do it completely. Everything, if that’s what Ben really wanted. Ben walked beside him, rather than following after him. The house seemed to be holding its breath around them, and the smuggler felt the hair on the back of his neck stand up when they got to Hux’s door. It was a warning. The house was telling them to stop.

The officer opened the doors to his quarters, but only turned on one of the lights, leaving Ben to adjust the room to his tastes.

“Sit where you’d like,” he said, going into his private bedroom. He took off the high uniform’s belt then divested himself of the formal jacket. He quickly changed into loungewear, coming back into the main room with a faint frown still drawn on his features.

Ben looked around the outer room thoughtfully, taking off his own jacket and carefully laying it over the back of one of the chairs. It wasn’t his, after all, and Hux would likely need it the next time he invited an ill-prepared guest to dinner. After a moment, he leaned down to pull his boots off as well, standing them up beside the small couch. He’d only done this a few times, and every time he’d been with his uncle as his guide. Or was he guiding Luke? It had been unclear whose strength they were relying on as he got older. Luke had never been trained to do this. Flow walking was something he’d studied in the books he and Ben had found when they’d been traveling together and hunting down Jedi lore.

He walked over to one of the long windows and pulled the heavy curtains away from it. It was featureless black outside, with only the light from the room catching on the rain that hit the outside of the window to break up the night.

“Open up. We need some air.” Ben watched the window slide open and felt a few droplets of rain on his face.

Hux came over, standing a few steps behind Ben, watching him.

“Where’s easiest for you?”

Ben turned back to face Hux and shrugged. “Right here, honestly.” Rather than walking back to a chair, he knelt down in front of the window.

“And where do I go?”

Ben looked up at him, face remarkably mild. He gestured with an open hand to the spot right in front of him. “Here’s good. Facing me.” He had no idea if this was actually a required or even more useful position. It was simply the one he and his uncle had used.

The general didn’t argue, walking around and sitting down in front of Ben, taking a deep breath. He was still uncomfortable, shoulders tense. He shifted a little closer to Ben, their knees almost touching.

“What are you going to look for?”

Ben blinked when a breeze blew through the open window and pushed his hair into his eyes. He impatiently shoved it back from his face and looked at Hux.

“Whatever you’re going to show me.” He took a deep breath and set his open palms on his thighs.

“I know that what happened...the way I grew up, it wasn’t...it shouldn’t have happened like that. Not to a child, not to me.” Hux was staring at Ben as he spoke, almost a glare. If he was going to do this, he wouldn't have Ben Organa Solo feeling sorry for him. “No matter what you see, or what you find out...That’s not me. That’s not who I am.”

“I’ll know that,” Ben said simply.

“I won’t keep secrets.” Hux’s voice was quiet, still watching Ben carefully.

“You won’t be able to. I’ll be walking right there with you.” Ben shook his head slightly, unable to adequately explain. It wouldn’t be Hux feeding him memories. It would be Ben going through those memories with him, as though he’d been there when they happened. He wasn’t very practiced in this, and honestly, it might not even work for him this time. But Hux’s emotions were tied up in this house, and Ben felt his emotions tied up in Arrik’s. He could surrender it all to the Force and follow the general through the currents of memory that swept along the floors and curled up the walls. He took a centering breath and smiled crookedly. “You just have to let me in.”

“I need a promise,” he insisted, watching Ben for a few more seconds before closing his eyes. “You will not pity me.”

Ben looked over Hux’s face openly when his eyes closed. The bit of alcohol he’d drunk had brought some color to his cheeks, or maybe it was the excitement of the evening. He was obviously tired from the day’s events though; the skin under his eyes was delicate and faintly blue.

“I won’t,” he said honestly. “Who pities the obsidian blade after the volcanic eruption that made it?”

The general swallowed but didn’t respond. He took a deep breath and nodded once.

“You may begin.”

Ben closed his eyes and let himself feel the Force in the house. It was stunted as it moved through impressions that remained. He let his consciousness follow along the edges, muscles in his torso tensing and forcing him to exhale suddenly. It was mostly fear and pain, and brushing against it seemed to set fire to raw nerves when he brought his mind up against Hux’s again. He thought he’d spoken aloud, but he hadn’t.

This time, when Ben’s consciousness brushed against his own he didn’t fight it. He took a deep breath and let Ben feel his way through his mind, still unsure of what the other man was going to do.

“Show me,” Ben whispered, but his voice sounded distant and like an echo in the room. He saw this room in Hux’s head, and let that take them both back, General Hux slipping away to the child he’d been.

Show him. Show him. Hux swallowed and let down all the defenses he could find, not angry, not upset, just a little tired as he let Ben into his mind.

Ben was never prepared for the sensation of freefalling and the sick feeling in his gut when his consciousness was no longer his to control. He finally felt firm ground beneath his feet and gasped to catch his breath, then realized he was outside, with the damp mists of Arkanis on his face. He looked up at the grey, solid face of the Academy, imposing and unchanging through several wars. His eyes continued up the front of the building until it finally gave way to the clouded grey sky. There was a tug on his consciousness and he looked down to see the top of a peaked grey cap on a head that seemed to small to be dressed in a uniform.

It was difficult to see the small pale hands and small pale face and feel the sensation of Arrik. He took a deep breath, in a place and time he had never been.

Arrik was six, almost seven, and it was one of the first times he had ever been scared to go home. Ben felt the fear like it was part of himself, even as he knew it was the boy’s. He turned away from the school when Arrik did and knew the dark imposition of the house at the end of the long path. Dread dogged his footsteps, dogged Arrik’s footsteps, and Ben walked behind him as though in the wake of it.

The young boy walked steadily, knowing that if he were late his father would know and be angry. He stopped in front of the doors and didn’t make a move to open them, frowning deeply up at the doors. It was an expression far too hard for a young boy.

Arrik shifted a little, all nerves and the seeds of anger poking through

“What do you want to see?” the child asked, looking up at Ben, a stroke of Hux’s consciousness peeking through.

Ben felt jarred to feel the general’s steel in a child so small (because he had been small, without the promise of the height and lean muscle he possessed now, back in the room). The child’s voice was soft, even with his adult cadence coming through. The smuggler looked from Arrik’s face to the doors.

“What did he do? When you went into the house.” He reached out and touched the door; he knew the wood with a familiarity that wasn’t his. It was raining above them, but the rain didn’t touch them. “Let’s go in.”

“There are too many times,” the child responded, not making any move to open the doors. “He did things my whole life, since before this.” He spoke in his own voice, that of a seven year old, but the intent was that of the general, feeling Ben alongside his memories. “You need to be specific.”

Ben left his hand on the door, feeling the chill in the heavy wood leech into his palm. The house was a box of torment for the boy beside him, for the man across from him in the room his body remained in. (You’re there, he reminded himself, feel the wind on your real skin, hear the curtains flap against the wall.)

“We should start at the beginning. Show me the first time.” He looked away from the door and down to the boy beside him. His body was cold again as he let himself be pulled back into the stream of the Force that followed Hux’s mind back again.

Arrik nodded, and he walked past Ben, opening the huge doors just enough for his small body and sliding into the mansion. He turned to go back into the home, heading toward the library. Ben moved with him, walking but not walking, and his stomach burned with anxiety as he grew closer to where he knew Brendol Hux would be sitting, with a drink, in his study.

Arrik looked up at Ben and then pushed open the doors to the library, slipping inside quickly.

For a moment, the house was dark and flat and Ben felt something like the tip of a sharp nail scrape its way up his spine. He lost track of the moment Arrik had opened the door and when he’d closed it; he was simply here and then inside. He took a sharp breath and opened the door and suddenly he was inside the warmly lit library and the fear that had been resting on his shoulders evaporated.

Inside was a quiet scene; the three members of the family were all in the library; Brendol in his preferred chair, a book held open over his knee, to the side, on a chaise that was obviously an antique was a woman, barely in her thirties, and on her lap, a young Arrik, hands spread wide on a large print book, his blue eyes huge. Maratelle (her name was Maratelle, he knew suddenly), was holding the book open, leaning over, reading softly to the boy she was raising as her son.

Ben knew the book was one of Arrik’s favorites; he’d asked his mother to read it to him so many times, he knew every word by heart. Even though he could read it himself, he wanted to hear her tell it. Ben realized he knew the book as well; this was the fairy tale about the royal family. This was the book with the picture he’d thought he’d seen with the king’s eyes scratched out.

Arrik giggled as his mother added effects to the words, acting out the voices. She bounced Arrik on her legs and he squealed, laughing, turning to clutch her slim wrist with both of his hands.

Brendol looked over, frowning.

“He should be in bed.”

“A few more stories, Brendol,” Maratelle replied, still bouncing Arrik on her leg. He turned back to the book and pushed the pages to his favorite story, looking up at his mother, grinning.

“Ellie.” Brendol stood up, putting aside his own book and walking over to them. His wife smiled up at him, eyebrows up. “You need your rest too.” Brendol leaned down, not touching his son, placing his hand over his wife’s belly, spreading his hand as he did. The promise of legitimacy, when the shame sitting there before him would no longer be needed.

Arrik looked up at his father, not understanding the gesture. The scene paused for a second, and he looked over at where Ben was standing. Ben understood as an adult, even with Arrik’s childish confusion in his head.

“You have a sibling,” he said aloud. A million possibilities spun out around the scene in this room; none of them matched the reality of the man he knew.

The toddler pushed himself off his mother’s lap, walking over to Ben and walking out of the library. They didn’t walk out into the hall, instead they turned and were in Arrik’s room. It was dark, night, sometime in the colder months, and Arrik got onto his hands and knees, crawling towards the door. It was cracked letting light into the boy’s room. Ben walked behind him, silently; there was no fear that he’d be seen.

Arrik leaned down, looking into the hallway. He was still young enough that his parents kept him close to their suite. There was commotion coming from his parent’s room down the hallway. Voices, walking around, some droids had rushed up earlier, it was not the calm Arrik was used to. He had woken up in the middle of the night, and was now staring at the door to his parent’s room. Ben pushed it open, leaving Arrik standing in the hallway. He wasn’t there, not really; he could move through history however he wanted to.

The lights were bright in the room, a contrast to the thin line of light that had bisected the dark hallway. Arrik suddenly scrambled back into bed as the door to his parent’s room opened, his father’s loud footsteps unmistakable. The child pulled the covers over his head, pretending to sleep as the footsteps passed, heading for the office on the second floor. Ben felt himself in both places, moving down the hall with Brendol Hux and hiding in fear of something unspoken under the covers of the bed that was much too big for him.

Arrik slid out of bed, going out of his bedroom. He glanced at his parent’s door and then decided to follow his father, padding down the hallway and taking the stairs carefully. Ben followed, knowing his way through the dark house as Arrik did, knowing which stairs creaked and where the shadows were deepest for creeping.

He made his way to his father’s office, and looking over the door (open, almost ajar, light on,) decided that he could go in.

“Sir?” Even as a child he still referred to his father as an officer. He peeked around the door, walking in, rubbing his eyes. “What’s happening?”

Brendol turned, angry, upset, irrational, and glared at his son. He had a glass in his hand, and he shook his head, frowning deeply.

“Go to bed, son.”

“I want to see mommy.”

“Your mother is tired,” Brendol said, annoyance and anger spiking through his voice, even though Arrik couldn’t recognize it. Ben did; the room was suddenly charged with violence where there hadn’t been any a moment before.

“Are you tired?” Arrik asked, yawning and rubbing at his eyes.

“Go to bed.”

“Why is mommy tired and not asleep?”

Brendol threw his glass at the wall and Arrik darted from the room, stumbling up the stairs with his hands and feet. He was scared, terrified, and he didn’t want to think about what just happened, the sharp sound, the look on his father’s face in profile. He pulled his door shut, trying hard not to cry as he climbed into his bed, pulling the covers over his head again. Ben felt his heart hammering in his chest, the violence following Arrik back up into the childhood safety of his bed and blankets. It was a marking point, a line drawn. This was the first time Arrik had known that kind of fear, fear of an unspoken consequence to an unknown wrong. Ben felt it too, the actual fear of a parent.

Arrik stayed up a while longer, breathing hard, trying not to cry too loudly before he fell asleep. Next to Ben, Hux came up again, three years old, back straight, watching the body move under the comforter.

“That’s the beginning,” the small child said, looking up at Ben with huge blue eyes. Ben swallowed and looked down at the boy beside him.

“There wasn’t...you don’t have a brother. Or a sister,” he said quietly. “Show me what he did. After the beginning, what did he do to you?”

Arrik glanced up at Ben, frowning. He nodded once and walked to the door, the light from the hallway shining brightly. Without consciously moving, Ben felt himself going through time again. He followed Arrik through several years without seeing anything, then he recognized the garden he’d destroyed the night before to sate the general’s desire to be faced with raw power. It seemed brighter, or maybe that was because there were more flowers and a few toys lying around. He was there watching Arrik again, and the child didn’t seem much larger, though he knew even at this age he was getting stronger, already being held to a standard much higher than any other student. His mind was sharp too, already; his toys were set up to imitate a battle that had been fought long before he’d been born. The boy kneeling across from him was happy to follow Arrik’s lead and let him go over their childish game of tactics.

Again they moved, the cool fresher outdoor air replaced for the chill, damp of the house. Ben walked beside the child as they were suddenly on the second floor, standing before the office door. There was no noise from inside.

Arrik was five, almost six, younger than he had been when he had brought Ben to the mansion for the first time. He pushed the door open, going quietly into his father’s study. He wasn’t scared, yet, but he was timid, shyly opening the door.

“You wanted to see me, sir?”

Brendol stood in his office, his back to the door. He was looking out at the garden where just five minutes before he had seen Armitage playing with another boy. Ben felt the older man’s displeasure before he spoke.

“I saw you playing with Lieutenant Robias’ child.”

“Yes,” Arrik said quietly, looking up at his father, “Eberut-Tan, he’s nice.”

“The Robias family is non-conforming,” Brendol said, looking back to his son. He was in uniform, papers and holos on his desk. “Walen-Tan and Julin are educating their child outside of the Academy. You shouldn’t be playing with their son.”

Ben watched the commandant’s face, the firm line of his mouth. His son belonged to him, like the house, like his desk, like his boots. He was wearing the uniform of a defunct power, secretly heading a school that should no longer exist. The windows were nearly frosted with bitterness.

Arrik blinked, confused. Eberut was quiet, but eager to play with him, eager to let him take the lead, didn’t argue, laughed at the stupid things he did.

“He’s plays the games I like to play,” Arrik said, watching the smoke float up from his father’s cigarette. “I get to be the Empire every time. He’s good at losing.”

“You are not to play with him anymore.” Ben felt the flare of irrational anger that Brendol let rise up through his usual annoyance with the boy. As though Armitage winning, as though Armitage pretending the Empire winning, was a personal insult.

“But he’s nice, other kids don’t play with me.” Ben felt the quiet loneliness in the child’s reply. He was too young to understand why he was so alone. His father was important, he knew that, but he didn’t recognize the fear in the eyes of the parents of children who could have been his friends. He didn’t enjoy the few visits he had with other children while their parents came to have dinner with the commandant’s family. It was boring to sit on one of the chairs next to another boy or girl while he tried to engage them in the excitement he felt for the big ships that visited the academy or the lizard he’d secretly found in the garden. It was strange for Ben to identify; his own loneliness as a child had been the result of the other children being afraid of him, not trickling down from their parents. Though maybe there was an aspect of that too. He felt the yearning in Arrik that came from all the times he spoke to someone and had them mutter and turn away. Eberut stayed and listened.

“You shouldn’t be playing at all,” Brendol snapped, glaring at his son.

Arrik swallowed, eyebrows up. He shifted from foot to foot, kicking at the floor. He looked down and shrugged, and it wasn’t outward defiance, but it was enough to set Brendol on the edge.

“But he’s nice,” the young boy muttered, his shoulders hunching.

“Come here, boy.” Brendol almost growled at his son, taking a few steps towards Armitage. Arrik’s panic spiked up through Ben’s chest as the young boy obediently walked towards the commandant.

Brendol reached for his son, pulling him close by the nape of his short sleeved shirt, ignoring his whimper. He was furious, irrationally angry with the small child who displayed such small defiances. He held Armitage with a bruising grip, and the commandant shifted, taking another drag of his cigarette before pulling Armitage’s shirt down more firmly, exposing the back of his neck and shoulder blade.

Arrik’s terror was palatable, and he was already starting to tear up, although he made no attempt to escape his father’s grasp as the shirt dug into his neck. Ben watched with his hands in fists by his sides. He wanted to step forward, even though he knew he was just an observer in something that had already happened, something that was unchangeable. Arrik’s fear immobilized him anyway; he couldn’t move. Brendol flicked the ash off the end of his cigarette, the burned leaf leaving dark flakes on Arrik’s light skin, before he pressed the lit end against his son’s back, near his spine.

Arrik yelled out, flailing away from his father, crying and gasping as Brendol let go of his shirt. The child scrambled away from the commandant, looking up at the man, eyes huge, his face openly shocked and betrayed.

“You will not play with Eberut-Tan Robias any longer,” Brendol said, voice hard as he looked down at the small child. Through the emotions in the room, Ben found one missing. Regret. Shame. The man didn’t have a single second of doubt in his action. He honestly believed his son had deserved that kind of pain, that type of betrayal of a parent.

The boy nodded furiously, turning around to run out of his father’s office, still not really knowing what had happened. Why it happened. He ran into his room, closing the door and going under his covers immediately and curling into a ball, grabbing a pillow and burying his face into it, crying as softly as he could manage. Ben knew the child wasn’t angry; he was confused. The pain was intense as it radiated out from the burned spot on his back, and it didn’t make any sense.

“This wasn’t the only time,” the smuggler murmured aloud. “This was only the first time.”

The young boy was instantly beside him, red-eyed, chin wobbling. If he was being honest, it wasn’t as painful as some of the other times in his short life. He fell off a wall in the garden and dislocated his arm, and that hurt worse, but this was different. Arrik pushed the back of his hand over his eyes, looking up at Ben again.

“I didn’t play with him again. I ran away when I saw him next. The second time he tried to play with me I pushed him to the ground and kicked him. Called him nonconformist and then ran away.” Arrik swallowed, frowning. “After that, none of the other kids played with him either.”

Ben looked from the small figure beside him to the shuddering shape under the covers. This was the second thing he’d seen in Hux’s memory stream that ended like this, hiding, crying.

“But that wasn’t enough. There were more things that angered him, right?”

“Many things. Over the years...more and more.”

Arrik took a step back, turning Ben to look into a new room. Another view of the library, with the three members of the family sitting in their own chairs. Maratelle and Brendol seemed relaxed, but Arrik’s knuckles were white on his holopad that he flipped through.

Arrik was seven, and he pushed Ben through time again, turning the young man to watch Brendol holding his son by the neck, growling about his appearance at school, another burn against his arm. Arrik made a noise, taking Ben’s wrist, and he pulled him into the porch next to the garden. Brendol put out another cigarette on his son’s side, holding him tight by his arm, not letting him squirm away. Arrik pulled on Ben’s arm again, and this time they were back in the office and Arrik was eight, still trying to pull away from his father as the cigarette was pushed into the inside of his upper arm. This time, Brendol released his son for only a few seconds to slap Arrik, who was too shocked to do anything.

“Stay still,” Brendol growled, finger pointing in his son’s face as Arrik stood absolutely immobile, eyes huge, tears spilling over as the cigarette burned out on his arm. Ben remembered each of those marks, each one of those scars. He’d seen them healed under the Tyrakos sun.

Arrik pulled away from his father, who stood frozen, and went back to Ben, expression severe. Ben swallowed and look down at him. Torture. Continued, unreasonable abuse. Arrik stared up at him, eyes ice-cold, shoulders hunched, defiant, angry, a little boy who was still unbroken.

“I warned you. I told you this happened,” the general peeked through again, eight year old Arrik Hux conveying his older self’s steel, even though the voice was young. Ben licked his lips and nodded, looking over at Brendol’s face. His barely contained rage was focused on his son at all times. He knew that in the commandant’s mind, Arrik...Armitage deserved it all. His son deserved nothing better. He was weak, he disobeyed; even when he made a show of excellence, he tried to do it his own way. Ben felt it, the strange regret that Brendol Hux carried with him. That this boy wasn’t perfect. Perfectly obedient. Perfectly trained. A perfect copy of Brendol to bring about the return of the Empire. That this bastard child was the only progeny he’d managed to give the Empire.

Ben licked his lips as he looked down at Arrik again.

“You faced all of this and no one ever noticed?” He shook his head in disbelief. “Your mother, at the very least. Didn’t anyone stand up to your father over this? People had to know. People had to see.”

“I wore uniforms.” Arrik pulled Ben again, and they were in Arrik’s room again, watching the boy get dressed, buttoning up his jacket to his neck. “Most of the time, nobody saw. If they did, they weren’t about to mention it to Brendol.”

“Why? Sure, he was in charge of the academy, but the Empire was dead! He had no real power, no real authority. He was nobody.” Ben couldn’t look away from the spots he knew the scars were, even hidden beneath the uniform.

“He had authority here. You don’t know how this place works, you don’t understand that for these people, Brendol was the last bastion of the old Empire. Whatever he did in his own home was his business,” Arrik said, standing next to Ben as another version of himself pulled down the sleeves of his shirt and jacket, adjusting the small peaked cap on his head.

“So they knew and ignored it. For years.”

“It wasn’t their place to say anything,” Arrik said, staunch and fierce, his small hands balled up by his sides. “It wouldn’t have helped.”

“Didn’t anyone support you? Didn’t anyone bring it up just to you?”

“Support me?” Arrik looked up at Ben, a little confused. “What good would that have done? The people who knew me saw me in school, or training, or playing sports, they just saw me going through the motions, most of them wouldn’t think my father was doing this at home.” Arrik shook his head and watched himself put on another uniform, this one for fencing. “This is a military academy, Ben, kids get bruised up all the time just from going to a martial class or making a mistake during a training session. Nothing on me was anything people would have gotten...concerned over.”

“Kids don’t get cigarette burns,” Ben said with a little more feeling. It was hard to just watch this, any of it, and act like it didn’t affect him. The years and uniforms seemed to slide by; the smuggler felt like he could see the glowing embers of the new scars even under Arrik’s clothes.

“I don’t know what good this line of thinking will do,” Arrik muttered with childlike petulance, his eight year old self shifting to cross his arms. “As far as I know, nobody saw, and if anyone did, they said nothing.”

“So this just went on like this until...when? Something had to change. It wasn’t just cigarettes on skin until you got offworld,” Ben said, swallowing down his own anger. He didn’t understand how Arrik hadn’t lashed out, hadn’t hit back. Not at eight, of course, but he hadn’t been this small the entire time.

Arrik shrugged. “He started hitting me more. I think he realized bruises fade faster than scars.”

“Your mother,” Ben said as the time stream shifted around them and the Force pulled him forward where his consciousness had latched onto it. There it was, suddenly, the knowledge of Maratelle not demanding, but asking for Brendol to stop, not to use his son this way. She had known, she had known for years, but now finally, this once, she’d stood up to her husband in defense of the boy who should have been her son. “She told him to stop. She knew. You said no one said anything.”

Arrik made a noise of contempt, reaching to take Ben’s sleeve for a second. He walked out of his bedroom door and they were in the library, decorated to his mother’s tastes, Maratelle on the chaise, a book dropped to the floor by her feet. Arrik stood in front of her, sometime around the age of eight or nine, a little ganglier than the boy who had led Ben into this past.

“Arrik,” his mother said his name with some kind of accent, making the ‘A’ less harsh, barely rolling her ‘r’s, bygones from some softer tongue than Basic. “All this from a match at school?”

The young boy wiped at his nose and huffed, swallowing hard. There was still dried blood under his nostrils, a split lip that didn’t seem as fresh, a bruise by his cheekbone, another forming on his shoulder, visible through the tear in his uniform. He shrugged, not answering.

A droid whirred by, dropping a pack of ice by Maratelle’s side. She quickly applied it to her son’s face, her hand shaking slightly. She already knew, Ben knew it as he watched her. He wasn’t assuming; standing there in the past, he knew it for a fact. She knew her husband’s hand on her son.

“All this wasn’t from school?”

“Some was,” Arrik muttered, still looking down. “Magens and Domick called me names.”

“And you hit them?”

Arrik shrugged.

“Fistfighting is not befitting an officer, Arrik.”

“‘M not an officer,” he grumbled, blinking hard, staring at his feet. “‘M just a cadet.”

She could feel the pain in his voice and sighed, pushing his hair back and leaning in to kiss his forehead gently.

“I’m going to speak to your father.”

The sharp tang of fear shot through the young boy, and Arrik looked up at his mother then, eyes huge.

“No! Don’t, he’ll only get mad at me!”

“Hush.” Maratelle stood, brushing her son’s hair as if that would ease his terror. “He will listen to me.” She left the library, not inviting Arrik along, the young boy watching her dress retreating with something like dread.

Arrik blinked and turned his glance from his mother’s skirts to Ben suddenly, and he followed his mother through the door, pulling Ben along. They were at the second floor office soon after, the door half open, Arrik standing behind the hinge with the ice pack numbing his hand. Ben felt his anxiety drumming in his chest, vibrating through him in anticipation.

“He’s getting into fights at school now. More than just training with kids older than him; they are actively attacking him, Brendol.”

The child held himself tense, ready to bolt up to his room at a second’s notice.

“Good. He needs to learn to fight.” Brendol said quietly, obviously distracted and not bothered by his wife’s complaints.

“Not behind buildings.” Maratelle stepped forwards, putting her hand over the holopad, angling it down so that Brendol looked up at her. “Will you allow anarchy to pervade your school like this? Your own son is falling through the cracks in the system you have created. Have you no pride?”

Brendol stood up so fast the chair fell to the floor behind him. Maratelle took an audible step back, and outside the room Arrik winced, tension along all his muscles, making his spine rigid. Ben’s own instinct to fight made him change his stance where he stood in the hallway beside the boy. Arrik’s instinct was to run; he didn’t fear the boys at school, but he feared his father’s heavy hand and heavier disapproval. The smuggler felt himself caught up in both, consciousness suffused with unspent adrenaline.

Maratelle didn’t move back further when her husband came to her, facing her down.

“He is failing because he is a failure,” Brendol said quietly, voice dangerously soft. Despite the muted sound, outside the room, Arrik heard the words clearly, and tears again stung the corners of his eyes. “If the other children see weakness and act on instinct to eliminate it, that is no fault of mine.” His voice was sharp, low and utterly brutal. He believed this; that his son was a deteriorating asset, a wrongly- made creature who deserved the treatment he received at every turn.

“You do him no favors, sending him to school with a bully’s job half done.”

It was the closest thing to an accusation that Brendol had heard, the nearest that anyone would ever come. He grabbed Maratelle’s arm, pulling her around, glaring at her.

“You will not criticize the way that I choose to discipline my son,” he said, raising his voice. It was an acknowledgement of paternity by means of establishing ownership. Armitage was his. There was that underlying current as well, he is my son, of my blood, of my flesh, and you are just another caretaker. Armitage had no true mother, all he had was his father and his father’s wife.

Outside, the boy was breathing hard, torn in between wanting to pull his mother back and wanting to run to his rooms.

Maratelle didn’t move, stared down at the commandant with eyes that somehow found a way to match her son’s, despite the fact that she hadn’t birthed him. It was a biting gaze that the general would perfect later in life, one that made even the staunchest of men step back. Ben waited for something in an eternally long moment, waited for the balance to shift one way or the other.

“If you continue, you will create a man you will not recognize,” she said, acid dripping off her tongue.

“So be it,” Brendol snapped, louder now. “If I have any luck, maybe he’ll become a man after all.”

Maratelle said nothing to that, turning instead to leave the office.

“You’ll thank me for this!” Brendol took a step after her, and that’s when Arrik dashed away, heading to his room, his father’s voice following him up the stairs. “He needs me!”

Arrik turned into his room, shutting the door, putting his forehead against the wood. He took deep breaths, refusing to cry, refusing to be as weak as his father assumed. His hands formed fists against the door and he swung at it, crying out as his knuckles split against the hard surface.

He swallowed, taking a step back, looking at the cracks left along his skin. He made a noise and put his fist to his mouth, sucking on the wound as he went over to his work desk, a new addition since the last time Ben had seen the room. He pulled open a holopad and sat with his legs crossed, eyes following the wires and small micro solders, focusing on the inner workings of technology rather than the messy feelings he couldn’t process.

Downstairs, Maratelle left the office, angry and determined. She saw the ice pack, forgotten outside the door and picked it up, going to the staircase. She considered going to her son, comforting him, reassuring him, but after a few minutes, she went back to the library and her books, hoping that maybe Arrik would find his own way to her, if he wanted. Ben wasn’t sure how he saw it all, Maratelle sinking onto the sofa again, Arrik hunched over his projects with blood still on his hands, Brendol’s self-righteous mouth as he bent to pick up the chair his anger had knocked down. That was it. The distance that separated them all spread out. He felt Arrik’s mother begin to diminish, the sofa seeming to grow around her. Her presence in the house dimmed until it was only a spot in a single bedroom and a memory in the library.

“She’s dying,” he murmured to himself, to Arrik if he was listening, to the house that absorbed every dark feeling inside its walls.

At the desk, Arrik shrugged, putting his tools down and turning to look over at Ben.

“We didn’t know for another year. She had been bedridden for months before he sent for a real doctor.”

“He wouldn’t look at her.” Ben pressed his mouth and looked to the door. “He was done with her.” The knowledge kept hitting him all at once; it was uncomfortable to know everyone’s secrets. They pulled him further and further away from himself, his emotions wrapped up in events he hadn’t been part of but now felt he had. He felt that he had always been here, watching beside Arrik.

“She was another useless thing to him. Barren, dying.” Arrik made a noise, shrugging. “She moved into a bedroom on the second floor. Away from my father and me.” He looked down, turning in his chair, long legs already touching the ground. “She died when I was thirteen. We did everything to get her well, but she...never fully recovered. The last year, she didn’t leave her room at all.” The child looked up at Ben, eyebrows up, almost a dare. “Would you like to see that?”

Ben stared back at the boy for a moment, feeling the currents already pulling him. It was a challenge, it was a request. He made a noise and nodded, holding his hand out again. “Show me.”

Arrik slid off his chair, going over to Ben and taking his hand. The room moved away from them as time shifted. Ben moved his thumb over the cuts on the boy’s hand, knowing what it felt like to punch knuckles into doors, walls, the crushing sensation of a fist against the bark of trees. But the hand in his was too large for a child’s and cold from a room with the long windows open to the night winds. He was too aware of his own heartbeat for a second, then realized it wasn’t his. Hux was right beside him, all the steel and ice and purpose he’d grown up built around, but Ben couldn’t turn his head to look at him. He couldn’t look to see Brendol’s face with those ice eyes that were Maratelle’s and not hers. But his hand was careful as he held Arrik’s, knowing the hand in his was small, was injured, was still bleeding. For a few seconds, there was no delineation between the past and the present and Ben struggled in the time stream, not realizing how tired he was getting as he let the Force move his consciousness and let his emotions wind through Arrik’s that much more tightly in the past.

There was a flash and he was standing in the middle of a dim room that smelled like flowers and death. Ben turned his head sharply to see the bed pushed up against the wall in one corner of the room as though to keep it more and more in the shadows. He couldn’t see her face, but he could feel Maratelle’s breathing in the room.

Arrik let go of Ben’s hand, stepping forward. He was nearly twelve now, taller still, with spots on his face and some heft to his shoulders that hadn’t been there before. He looked better in his cadet’s uniform, as if he’d created himself into a man who would wear one, as if he’d crafted his bearing around the uniform itself.

“Let’s open the windows, mother.” Arrik said, stepping forward, going over to a wall and drawing the curtains open. Even with the darkening blinds pulled back, the heavy Arkanis weather didn’t allow much light into the room, instead bringing into the room the cool breeze, the heady aroma of the flowers his mother loved. It smelled less like a stale dusty room, more like someplace where someone could breathe.

He turned back to the bed, the figure there fighting to sit up. Going over, he put his arm around his mother’s shoulders, helping her lean against the headboard as he arranged some pillows. She didn’t know (how would she, locked up here in her room, insulated, institutionalized in her own home,) that at that moment he had finger-shaped bruises around his wrists, another blossoming over his side, a small, two-week- old burn stinging against his leg as he sat on the bed next to her. As though he’d sat with them, Ben felt the give of the mattress, softer than any other in the house. The bruises and cuts, injuries he hadn’t received, were almost visible to him beneath the uniform, or maybe he felt them himself. He felt less himself in this room, overcome with the sudden weight on him. A dying mother.

“Arrik,” her accent was heavier now, and she smiled at her son, her eyes sunken, face hollowed out by a disease that the best doctors on Arkanis and beyond hadn’t been able to cure, just slow down. “How are your studies?”

“I’m doing better, mother,” he said, smiling slightly, not pulling away when she took his hands. He took a deep breath, watching his mother’s face. “I’m applying myself. Impressing all the professors, top marks.”

“Very good.” She smiled, shifting to put a hand on Arrik’s face. The boy made a noise, rolling his eyes and pulling away from his mother’s hand. “Oh, come now,” she teased, laughing a little, sitting up a little straighter to fix Arrik’s part. “You are not old enough to do that.”

Ben wanted to hear her say his name again, just one more time; she didn’t say it the way anyone else did and again that strangely omniscient sense told him that she pronounced it correctly. The rest of them said it wrong. The impending loss of Arrik’s name made the room seem darker still.

“I’m almost thirteen,” Arrik said, setting his mouth in a way that reminded Maratelle of Brendol, in an unpleasant way.

“You will always be my little boy,” she said quietly, chuckling and letting her hand fall. “Come, did you bring a book? My eyes don’t catch the words like they used to.”

Arrik nodded, pulling his school-issue gerbwool bag around and pulling out a novel from the Captain Tharus series, smiling slightly.

“I found the eighth book,” he said, eyebrows up as he watched his mother’s face for some kind of reaction. “This is when he finally finds the Pterýtitan that’s guarding the dark fire of Theta Calesius...” Arrik’s voice faded, even though his mouth continued to move. Beside Ben, another version of Arrik elbowed him.

“I don’t think you want to have the ending spoiled,” he said quietly, speaking with all of his thirty- three years from the set of a twelve- year- old’s shoulders. Ben smiled a little and looked down for a second, before looking up again.

“Thanks. I appreciate that.” He wasn’t sure if the man or the boy wanted to keep the book exciting for him. He wasn’t sure who he was hearing. Ben’s attention wavered between trying to figure it out and the scene that was playing out before him. The room had gotten chilly though neither the sick woman nor the boy seemed to notice.

The breeze from one of the windows blew his hair into his face and he closed his eyes, turning his head away. When he opened them, the room was darker and too warm. The closed curtains seemed more like heavy shrouds; they hadn’t been opened in a long time. Ben took a deep breath and heard it echoed from the bed, a weak, thready sound.

Beside him, Arrik had sprouted another few inches, his hair was longer and tucked behind his ears. He stepped forward, going over to his mother, sitting again by her bed. There was nothing more the doctors could do for her; two months ago they’d left medicines that would only ease pain and not delay the inevitable any longer. They had told Arrik and his father that the only thing left to do was make her as comfortable as her condition would allow, to ease her slowly into the deepest sleep.

The pain lasted; it was wrenching. In between all the contrived pain, all the problems that had been made for Arrik, all the struggles his father had created, here was a note of absolute tragedy, echoing in a way that only undeserved death intoned.

She was dying, barely breathing, her senses and body robbed before their time. Ben felt it keenly, the grief in the room, her unconscious grief to be leaving him alone, Arrik’s unfathomable grief at being left. Ben’s eyes searched Maratelle’s wasted face; the calm peace of the woman in the library was gone. Even the distracted worry was gone. She’d been whittled down to an effigy of pain.

She could barely speak, and as Arrik leaned down to kiss her cheek, both he and the general knew that this would be the last time. She smiled at him, unable to speak loudly, murmuring Arrik’s name as she exhaled. Ben felt the name reverberate through him with the boy’s hearing and the man’s memory.

“I’m going to class,” Arrik said, smiling slightly. “I’ll read to you when I’m back.”

Maratelle nodded, her hand shifting on the comforter. Arrik took it, kissing her knuckles before leaving the room. Ben’s consciousness went with him.

They were in a classroom then, Arrik sitting in front to so as he had promised, keeping himself focused on his studies. An officer interrupted the lecture, walking down to put his hand on Arrik’s shoulder. He flinched away from the touch and the officer withdrew his hand, leaning down to whisper in Arrik’s ear.

“Cadet, your mother…”

Arrik didn’t wait to hear more. Not acknowledging the professor at all, he stood, gathered his things, and left the classroom, passing Ben as he walked out. He didn’t run, walking at his usual clipped pace. Dread, anger, fear, he knew what was happening, he had known it for years, he knew what this meant.

None of that prepared him from the sight of his mother’s shrouded body floating out of the house on a hover lift pushed along by a pair of officer’s wives, women Arrik knew were close to her. He stood still, just barely in the front garden, his eyes wide as the women, tear-stained, resigned, pushed the lift toward the transport vehicle that Arrik knew had been on call for six weeks.

Inside the house, watching from the doorway, stood the commandant. His jaw was tight, his mouth pressed into a thin line that Arrik’s would never be able to imitate. The boy’s eyes followed the lift, and the intensity of it all was caught in his throat, held in the dark shadows under his fingers as they clutched the strap of his bag. Ben watched with him, unable to process the horror of the scene. The death of a mother, his mother. No, she wasn’t his mother. She was the mother of the boy beside him who couldn’t breathe, she was the mother of the little child with his fingers spread over the picture in his book, she was the mother of the man who told him to destroy and kill. The mother who had breathed out when her son had left the room and not had a reason to inhale again. The sense of her was gone, and Ben felt it again, that memory that Hux did not have, when the sense of him was gone, when there had been that moment of not-Arrik. The grief was all encompassing, and he felt the press of the boy’s shoulder against his in the garden. It was impossible; Arrik wasn’t that tall yet. But the general watched it all again beside him, pale eyes tearless and lost.

The cold air in the garden was cold air that had filled the general’s room. There was no difference, no anchor. Ben couldn’t look away as Arrik couldn’t look away; his mother’s body was small under the heavy cloth. It wasn’t right, it wasn’t natural. She should inhale, she should move. (In the cold room, Ben’s eyelashes moved on his pale cheeks and he couldn’t move.) He would be here forever, trapped by the emotions he’d wound around the moment, that Hux had wound around the moment. Mother. Leia.

Beside him the general let himself remember a few more details, how the flowers suddenly smelled rotten, how his father turned away, didn’t even watch his wife disappear into the lift, how he had stood there until he had started crying and walked into the mansion, heading to his room and then the bathroom, spending an hour under the shower before emerging again. He took a deep breath, closing his eyes, and then reached over, hand wide, fingers long, and put a small amount of presson on Ben’s back, leading him, pulling him closer.

“That’s all there is of her,” he said, not thirteen and wracked with grief, but twenty years older, accepting, his bitterness faded in to something that resembled a bruise half- healed that only hurt when something accidentally pressed against it. He swallowed and shook his head, frowning a little as he pulled at Ben again.

“Ben?”

The smuggler heard Hux’s voice and knew it was not the boy’s voice. But he couldn’t respond, still standing in the garden and drowning in grief that had become his. He was no longer conscious of his body in the present, where he knelt across from Arrik the man. In that room, his breath came shallowly, slipping down beyond meditation. The flowers he could smell weren’t the ones that bloomed outside; they had bloomed twenty years ago.

The memories faded from Hux, and he pulled himself out of the trance- like state that Ben had induced. He was freezing, but focused on Ben across from him, who was still absolutely still. He shifted, joints aching slightly from sitting in one position on the hard ground for over an hour. Putting his hand on Ben’s forehead, he realized the man was unresponsive.

Hux cursed, glaring at the man. He slapped Ben’s cheek gently, not intending to hurt but giving him a bit of a surprise.

“Wake up,” Hux said, raising his voice. He put his hand on Ben’s shoulder, shaking him slightly. “You’re not there, Ben. You’re here.” While Hux was ignorant of what actually happened, the depth of what Ben had experienced, he knew that even for a Jedi trick, this couldn’t be easy, wasn’t something that came naturally.

“I need you to wake up, Ben.” This time, it was an order; one of the general’s bare hands cradled the back of Ben’s neck, the other was on his torso covering the spot where he had pushed glass into Ben’s side. The smuggler took a deep gasping breath, hand covering Hux’s as though to prevent him from causing a remembered pain. His eyes snapped open and he stared up at the general, finding the past in the man’s face.

Ben took a few more fast breaths, blinking quickly as he looked around. He concentrated on the hand on his neck, letting it act as an anchor as he drew himself away from his trance entirely. The room was quiet; again, the only sound was the curtains flapping in the stiff breeze from the window. For once, he was lost for words.

Hux’s face was drawn, but he didn’t pull away. He shifted slightly, leaning into Ben, keeping his hands on him.

“Are you here?”

“Yeah,” Ben grated out, then cleared his throat to try again. “Yeah.” His voice was more normal the second time he spoke. He felt exhausted, leaning into the general more than he realized he was. He remembered being tired the last time he’d done this, but that had been a brief visit to a moment in the past. Now his heart moved sluggishly in his chest as his body tried to rebuild stores of energy to let him live in the present. “Are you?”

“Of course,” Hux muttered, shifting a little to get his feet under him. He slid his arm around Ben’s waist, standing up with the taller man, leading him over to the nearby couch, and setting him down there. Ben leaned back and stretched his legs out in front of him. He closed his eyes, exhaling slowly. For a few minutes, he remained just like that. Anything more was too much work. He felt the house buzzing angrily around him, felt those steel grey eyes on both of them.

Hux stood in front of Ben, looking over the other man carefully. He took a deep breath, pushing both of his hands through his hair and looking around. After a minute he went over to the windows, closing them and drawing the curtains shut. He went into his own room and found another blanket, tucked underneath the bed for the occasional too-chilly night, and went back to the couch, draping the blanket over Ben.

“Sleep here.”

Ben frowned and opened his eyes to look up at Hux.

“No, no, I’m good. I can drag myself down the hallway; it’s no big deal.” Despite his protest, he only shifted to make himself more comfortable on the sofa, pulling the blanket over himself more closely.

Hux made a noise, shaking his head.

“Just stay.”

Ben took a deep breath and closed his eyes. There was a certain relief in knowing he wouldn’t be alone for the night when everything in the house was angry for his interference. His body was starting to get some warmth back under the blanket and he sighed as he breathed out again.

“If you just wanted to have a sleepover,” he murmured quietly. “You should have just said so.”

Hux rolled his eyes but didn’t respond, turning away from Ben to head into his own private rooms.

Ben was asleep before the general had closed the door between them.


	5. Chapter 5

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> thank you all for the fantastic responses! again, these two chapters are some of my favorites, so i'm so happy to see all the people who are enjoying it as much as i did. -tiger
> 
> tw: violence, abuse, etc.

When Ben woke the next morning, the weakest sunlight was fighting its way through clouds, through windows, and into the room. He looked around the suite with drowsy confusion for a minute before remembering the night before. It seemed that it had happened over the course of several rotations. He still felt weary and wondered if he could just inject some of Arkanis’ dark, heavy caf directly into his veins to help him wake up a little faster.

Shrugging off the blanket, he stood up and stretched slowly. There were aches and pains as his joints responded to the strange trip he’d put his body and mind through the night before. Hux was gone; even though his bedroom door was closed, Ben knew the general wasn’t sleeping in. A glance at the wall panel told him enough. Even after the night the general had had, he would already be about his business.

Ben, however, didn’t rush himself. He stood under the hot water in his suite’s bathroom for quite awhile before changing into the clothes he’d brought with him. The remnants of breakfast were waiting for him, and since he’d never been picky when he was hungry, the cold eggs and lukewarm caf gave him no reason to complain. The dining room seemed still and tired too; it rarely saw so many visitors, he guessed, though no evidence of the evening’s festivities remained. Glancing out the back windows, Ben surveyed the garden. Arrik’s mother’s garden. He could picture the child’s toys scattered on the walkway, he could smell the flowers gone brown and past their prime. The smuggler rolled his shoulders and headed for the front of the house. Even the droids were silent, and he didn’t want to be alone there while his senses were still so raw.

He headed up the walkway to the Academy itself; in a stroke of luck, it wasn’t raining and there were breaks in the eternal clouds that let some of that pale sunlight through. Ben was surprised at the nods he received from cadets passing by. He was more surprised when passing professors nodded to him with obvious pleased respect.

He stopped one of them after a few minutes of wandering the campus.

“Professor Simwe? Hi, good morning.” He honestly hoped it was still morning.

Simwe smiled at him, inclining her head slightly.

“Ben,” last night the smuggler had told that just his first name was fine. “Have you recovered from the excitement of last night? It’s not often that the general has such a pleasant demeanor throughout the entire night.”

“It was a late night for all of us,” Ben replied, then laughed a little. “I think everyone was up before me though. I’m bad with military hours.”

“You aren’t military,” Simwe said, still smiling slightly. She had scars over her hands, and even though she wore the usual military uniform, there was an impression that the scars continued well past her wrists.

“No...and something tells me I’d be awful at it,” Ben conceded with a grimace. “You had a good time last night?” He was glad Simwe wasn’t afraid of him. He had enjoyed terrifying Shiar’kos, but he wasn’t ready for every person around him to look at him that way.

“It was a rather nice party,” Simwe said, holding her hands easily behind her back. “Did you enjoy yourself?”

Ben laughed and looked away, trying to school his expression a little better before he looked back to her. He wasn’t entirely successful.

“I did, yeah. I haven’t been to a party like that in...quite a while. If ever.” He made a quiet sound. “Though I haven’t been able to find my host this morning.”

“The general?” Simwe made a humming noise, turning a little to point to the main academy building. “He’s making a propvid in the first dome. There’s a studio in the basement; you’ll find him there.”

Ben turned to follow Simwe’s gesture, then looked back to her and nodded.

“Yeah, I was supposed to tag along.” He laughed a little and shrugged. “But you can see my proof of that lack of military training.”

Seng Simwe smiled, but didn’t quite chuckle. She nodded. “I’m sure he’ll forgive you.” She bowed slightly, head inclined and she waited for Ben to dismiss himself. It was old school, very formal, and she held that position of deference.

Ben wasn’t sure what the professor was waiting for, then suddenly he felt it. That for the first time, he was the authority. He was the one in control of a situation not because he had forcefully taken it, but because his reputation and abilities afforded him respect. He took a deep breath.

“Well, I don’t know about that. I’m going to go track him down to find out.” He smiled at Simwe. “It was good seeing you, professor. I hope we have another chance to talk before I leave.”

Simwe straightened, still smiling at him. “Of course, I am available at your leisure.”

Ben waved a little as he headed in the direction of the dome-shaped building Simwe had pointed out, much more casual than she was. He hadn’t really been over on this side of the campus before and looked around curiously as he walked. There were a few cadets passing by who again nodded to him, and he nodded back with a wink this time.

He pulled open the door and walked into the building, checking the directory before heading down to the basement level and, hopefully, the studio there. There was an important looking woman flipping through her holopad standing outside the door and he walked over to her.

“Hey, hi. I was supposed to meet up with General Hux. Is he in there?” he asked, jerking a thumb toward the door.

The woman nodded curtly, stepping to the side. She was wearing a uniform, but it wasn’t First Order issue; there was a bold insignia covering the upper arm of her jacket and bright blue streaks running down back from her shoulders.

“The sim is running, you can go into the control room.”

Ben nodded to her and smiled, still eager to let most people know that Captain Solo was a ‘good guy.’

“Thanks, ma’am. I’ll be quiet, I promise.” He walked through the door, trying to take everything in at once. The main door let him directly into the control room and he smiled at the technicians. “Hey, what do we have going on here?”

There were four techs working in the booth, operating the vid system. Two camera operators, a sound tech, and another controlling visual effects, all in the same slightly cheery uniform as the woman outside the door. Hux was standing in the middle of a room behind the glass. The visual head looked back at Ben and smiled a little.

“We’re making a vid for the reaches of the Unknown Region, offering social aid.”

“Huh...and you’re having a military general tell them all that?” Ben asked, walking closer to the glass to watch Hux. He looked good this morning, as though the night before had taken no toll on him whatsoever. His hair was gleaming and slightly metallic under the lights, giving color to the starkness of his uniform. He held his gloved hands loosely, though his face was still strong.

“They are the client. Besides, he’s recognizable and good in front of a crowd.”

“Huh.” Ben crossed his arms over his chest as he watched Hux. He couldn’t hear the audio, which only seemed to be audible to by the techs wearing headphones. “He does all the propvids then?” He wasn’t sure if the general could see him through the glass or if he was a faceless shape.

“Most of them. He’s got a talent for saying the right words at the right time, even to a camera,” the tech said, glancing up at Ben. “We’re almost done. There’s one more after this.”

Ben looked over at the tech. Did Hux not get a script prepared for him? Did he just say what he was thinking, what he was feeling? He took a deep breath.

“Any chance I could get one of those headsets so I can be inspired as well?” he asked with a winning smile.

The visual tech made a noise and then leaned down, finding another headset and passing it up to Ben. “He won’t be able to hear you.”

Ben laughed as he put the headset on, watching the general through the screen. “That’s good to know.” He looked down to adjust the volume switch on the cord to bring up Hux’s voice.

“-periods of extreme hardship. The First Order understands your difficulties and wishes to offer aid. We can arrange new shipping channels, facilitate treaties, and help monitor tariffs. The First Order’s continued efforts in the Pentax system will not be insubstantial, and we will not waver in our resolutions. The Pentarran peoples are strong and determined, dedicated to their families and clans-”

Ben raised his eyebrows, arms crossed over his chest again. He hadn’t expected this. This was that regular political rhetoric, promises that all sounded the same. He’d heard a hundred such speeches in the Senate. He glanced over at the visual tech.

“Does he do anything? Are there effects? Does he sing?”

“No. We project different images behind him,” the tech explained, adjusting some levels. “This is the standard vid we send out.”

Ben made a noise and continued to watch Hux. He was compelling as he spoke, even if the words weren’t anything new. He delivered them with conviction and honesty, though never that patronizing attitude he’d seen so often in politicians promising help. The First Order seemed to emphasize strength in the systems they were aiding...even if the understanding was that the First Order was stronger still.

“He needs eyeliner,” he commented, glancing over at the tech with a teasing grin.

“His makeup tech goes for natural.” The sound tech smiled a little, glancing up at Ben. “But you should tell him yourself.”

Ben laughed and looked back to Hux through the glass. “How many of these things has he done? Does he do them all in Basic?” He remembered how well known the general’s face was on Tyrakos. He’d recognized Hux’s name, but definitely not what he’d looked like. He knew he wouldn’t have forgotten that hair and those cheekbones if he’d come across a holo.

“Dozens, honestly.” The tech shrugged. “He can speak a few different languages, but he can fake his way through another handful, at least long enough to get the accent down to something respectable.”

Ben thought of Maratelle murmuring her son’s name, the letters round and soft with the sharper click at the end. Arrik.

“I’ve only ever heard him speak Basic...and he doesn’t understand Shyriiwook,” he commented aloud, eyes still on the general.

The tech chuckled. “Well most people don’t understand Wookiees. He knows some of the trade languages. Sy Bisti, Bocce, Taarja.” The man shrugged. “Arkanis has it’s own dialect, but it’s not too far from Basic.”

“I don’t think I’ve heard that at all.” Ben paused. “Or I didn’t know that that’s what it was. I knew the Senator from Arkanis; she never mentioned anything like that.” He paused again. “Of course, she also never mentioned there was a First Order academy over here. As far as the Republic knows, this school was closed down, then started up again as a purely academic venture. No guns. Definitely no troopers. So...surprise!”

The tech looked up at Ben, an expression of confusion and skepticism on his face.

“Aren’t you a Populist? What we do on our own planet shouldn’t be regulated.”

Ben snorted and looked over at the tech with his eyebrows raised.

“I’m not a Centrist or a Populist. I’m a smuggler, so...all I need to know is where the regulations have chinks to let me slide in.” He winked and looked back to the general, still smirking.

The tech shrugged, looking back down at his work. Inside the studio, Hux took a step down off the platform, readjusting his parade uniform. It was still the standard that he wore around, but after he fixed his jacket, several members of a company obviously not the First Order came up to him and escorted him out of the large projection room through a side door.

“So what now? Does he get a costume change or something?” Ben asked as he watched Hux leave with the group. He was curious about the process here. This wasn’t just propaganda for the First Order. This was a collaboration, and he guessed that there was funding for the First Order involved as well.

“He’s getting into his high circumstances uniform. This is a general First Order prop.” The tech chuckled to himself, enjoying the simple joke.

Ben was surprised to hear any joking, but then again, Hux wasn’t in the room to disapprove. He smiled at the tech to show his appreciation.

“Generally he’s pretty good at getting dressed up.” He grinned and turned to look around, taking in the rest of the room. Some of the equipment showed signs of age, but for the most part, this was brand new. There was definitely money flowing into the First Order, and the group was taking advantage of it. Ben was almost certain that most of the funding they were receiving had its origins in the New Republic; there were likely sympathizers who were more than happy to funnel credits into laundering schemes to keep their noses clean but their Empire loyalties well fed.

“Yeah, I’d agree that there are no _major_ areas for improvement.” The tech was grinning, glancing up at Ben again.

“Well, at the end of the day, he’s the _captain_ of his own destiny,” Ben replied, not even bothering to keep a straight face. He was pretty sure Hux would smack him in the back of the head if he could hear him right now.

“I hear he keeps to himself. He seems like a very _private_ man.”

“Well, as an officer, and a gentleman, he tries not to be _petty_.” Ben laughed and shook his head. “I need more caf.”

“Mornings are tough on the corporal body,” the tech laughed, shaking his head. “That one may have been a stretch.” He shifted, pointing to another door. “There’s a little room through there loaded with snacks. We get fed and watered while we’re here. It’s in our contract.”

“Contract? So...you’re not military either?”

“Nope. We’re part of the Chayr Screens Systems. We’ve got a long-term exclusive contract with the First Order for all of their distributed holovids. You ever been on screen?” the man asked, digging into his pocket and passing a chipcard to Ben. “You got a face for it.”

Ben laughed and took the card, looking down at it. That was one hell of a pickup.

“Nah, I freeze up when I get in front of a recorder. Even my holos to my mom are awkward. But thanks.” He held the card up and nodded to the tech. “If I ever get over my stage fright, I’ll give you a shout. Though...out of curiosity, what do you think a face like mine could sell?”

“Anything you felt like handing out,” the man said, readjusting the settings on the setup. Another tech was inside of the booth, speaking, acting as a sound check before Hux got back in the booth. “I could get you a sponsorship selling air.”

It was always a little bit nice to be flattered. Ben laughed again and looked at the card before tucking it into the front pocket of his jacket.

“If the goods transport business stops treating me well, maybe I’ll give it a shot. I’ve always wanted to be a household name.” He watched the techs moving around to prepare for the next shoot. “I’m going to grab a caf. Want one?”

“Yeah, three sugars.” The man grinned at Ben. “Thanks.”

Ben smiled and walked into the attached room. The food that was laid out for the media company was simple and in line with most of the other offerings he’d seen during his time on Arkanis. He poured two cups of caf and walked back out into the booth, handing one over to the tech.

“Is he ready for his next one yet?” he asked.

“Getting ready,” the man muttered, tilting his head out of habit, listening to the man inside the recording booth speak. He adjusted some of the levels and then look up at Ben. “You’re not military either, by the look of you.”

“Well, there are only, what, ten of us walking around without uniforms? We stick out.” Ben sipped his caf; it was a step down from the stuff served at the general’s mansion. “But nope, like I said, I’m a smuggler. I wasn’t being facetious. That’s actually what I do.”

“Oh.” The man’s eyebrows shot up. “If you don’t mind me asking, what are you doing here?”

“Same thing as you.” Ben glanced over at the tech and shrugged. “Seeing if opportunity is calling.” He figured that was much more suave than trying out ‘I’m a Force sensitive space prince on the run from family issues with a taste for masochistic redheads in positions of power.’ Though the tech seemed to have a sense of humor. Maybe he’d like that better.

“Huh, well, the First Order’s got money to spend, if you’re willing to take it.” He shifted, holding his hand out to Ben. “Virkin Volt, nice to meet you.”

Ben took his hand and shook it warmly, still smiling a little.

“Ben Solo. It’s a pleasure, Mister Volt.” He stepped back and sipped his caf again. He was getting why the extra sugar was a must. “How long have you been working with the First Order?”

“A few years, you know, whenever C.S.S. gets a new contract,” he explained, sitting back with his caf. “I’m a regular, know the Academy controls pretty well so I’m usually the one they sign on to do this stuff.”

“Controls, huh? You like working on Arkanis? Do they ship you around for other holovids?” Ben leaned against one of the consoles.

“Not usually. We got outposts everywhere, or you know, in a few systems.” Virkin shrugged and then sat up as there was a flurry of activity coming from the right side of the studio. He made a noise, glancing down the panel at the other operators. “Look alive, kids, officer on deck.”

Ben stood up straight and turned so he could see Hux on the other side of the glass, putting the headset back on as he did. It was strange to see Hux on Arkanis, to see the general as production, the general as performed. He was the face of their propaganda, he was the nobility holding dinner parties, he was the shining example at their commencements. There was still part of his consciousness that was seeing the child in his small sturdy boots, in his damp cap, but he was also the man in the black uniform standing on the other side of the glass from him, fixing his leather gloves that fit every curve of his hands, turning slightly to make the studio lighting blink on the silver cording caught up across his chest from the right epaulette to one of the buttons with the black enamel inlay of the First Order insignia. Again, Ben felt that strange sensation of seeing the child and the man, the potential and the promise. He swallowed and stared at him for a moment, separated as they were, unseen as he was in the booth.

“Huh,” he said aloud. “Costume change.”

“Formal parade dress,” Virkin said, shifting slightly, leaning forwards. “He cuts a figure, that’s for sure.”

Inside the large recording booth, a few techs made sure that everything was set perfectly, that Hux was in the right spot, readjusted the lighting slightly for Hux’s complexion and stature, as he was slightly taller than the stand-in.

He shifted slightly, his boots polished to a high shine, set his shoulders, put his hands behind his back, almost as if he were at attention. It was almost comical, this military general closing his eyes as a couple makeup techs worked to even his face, adding only a minimal amount of maquillage to the man. Ben wanted to make a joke about this being a great setup for a new type of porn, but he couldn’t summon up the voice to make sure it sounded like a joke to everyone listening. He wasn’t sure it would sound like a joke to him. There was no question that Hux was impressive, but he was also untouchable. Ben couldn’t imagine putting his hands on him.

The smuggler looked over at Virkin. He must have seen this a dozen times before, but even the tech was still watching Hux with interest.

“Now what?”

“Give it a minute, Solo,” the man muttered, glancing up at him. “He’s waiting for the all clear, then he’ll go through his speech.”

Hux glanced over at one of the techs standing in the corner, who gave a nod and then disappeared into the side station. Virkin shifted, knocked on the glass and gave the general an all-ready gesture, nodding. Hux barely inclined his head before looking forward again, taking a deep breath at his cue. Ben licked his lips as the long moment held. Hux’s face was still, and in the space between one breath and the next, Ben saw Brendol’s hard expression.

“For centuries, the universe has known chaos; the disorder established by the Senates of the past and present permeate system after system that bows to its duplicitous stature. They promise you riches, they promise you peace, and they leave all wanting, caught up in the politic of prostration and self- aggrandizing vanity.” His voice was pitched at just a tone that implied anger and disgust without being too intense. He tilted his head up slightly, eyes cold and fierce.

Just listening, Ben felt his cheeks burning as though he was being taken to task personally. He couldn’t deny what Hux was saying, as he hadn’t been able to whenever they’d discussed this previously. But this wasn’t a discussion on the Millennium Falcon, this wasn’t even a lazy argument over a cigarette. This was a loud, ringing condemnation of the fragile, cracked peace his family had cyclically created and destroyed, over and over.

“The First Order knows better. The First Order is better. We are an established, expanding force, our systems are absolute, our reach is far, our decisions carry weight without the bureaucratic hand-wringing of the fledgling Republic.”

Hux paused, and he seemed contemplative, not unsure. “They accuse us of overstepping our bounds, breaching contract, but what accords have we signed? What paper shackles have they invented to bind us to the ground, so that they may walk over us? We say to them, the irenic and infirm bureaucrats who wish for us to simply disappear, that we will not abandon our post! We will not allow an insubstantial congress to dictate our destiny!” His voice rose, fierce and sharp as a whip.

“The systems of the Outer Rim were forgotten! The Unknown Regions were ignored! We have tamed chaos, created order where there was only dischord, given purpose to thousands, hundreds of thousands, saved lived, created a future for those that had only inevitability! The First Order will continue, onwards, ever onwards, and we are not alone, joined by systems across the entire galaxy. Imagine it-”

Another pause, breathless, his eyes sparkling. “Entropy stopped, chaos ceased, the order and balance of the universe restored under the rule of an ordered leadership, one that is not hampered by quibbling children.”

He swallowed, taking a deep breath, letting the threats and ideas and encompassing power and dignity of it all sweep over him. It was well known that the New Senate was a senate made up of young sentients, idealistic and naive. “Of course tyros would call us tyrants. But we are no despots, no absolutists, and all those who follow us, who would join us, would call themselves equals, allowed and awarded merit and standing within our ranks. I give that hand out, I offer it, in fraternity and civility, asking you to join us.”

Hux nodded once, glancing down, looking to the side before facing the camera again.

“We are the First Order,” he said, steadfast, absolute, not angry now, no unfair passions affecting him, “and we are for you.”

Of course he was the face of the First Order. Of course he was the voice. Ben kept his eyes on the man in the dark uniform; he could almost see him trembling with the true emotion he felt. Every single word, memorized though it was, was shot through with absolute truth. Here was a man who’d been brought up to be this. He had not been some cadet striving for perfect marks. He’d been a young demi-god striving toward his inherited divinity, his promised throne.

Ben took a deep breath in the silence that followed Hux’s speech, rubbing his hand over his mouth before raking it through his already messy hair. The booth was quiet, and he couldn’t tell if they were as stunned as he was or if they were just busy with their work, immune to what they’d heard. Heard many times before, no doubt.

He looked back to where Hux was standing stock still, as though still in the grip of his emotional speech. Ben realized he had to know the rest. He had to know, he had to see, what had turned the boy in the garden into this man. He wasn’t sure how to ask. He wasn’t sure he could actually do it.

On the studio floor, Hux took a deep breath and stepped back, looking over to the right and nodding. The director popped her head in and gave him a nod, saying they got it, but did he want a second take?

He shook his head, stepping down from the platform and tugging on one of the braided cords to straighten it. He was watching a small version of himself on the mini holopad the director was holding up. Ben watched him as though he couldn’t look away. He almost felt the power rush out of the room when the director had opened the door, releasing like a pressure valve.

Hux glanced up, seeing him through the booth and nodded slightly before turning his attention back to the director. They disappeared into the side room and the door closed with a snap that rang out through the headsets.

Beside Ben, Volt sat back, whistling under his breath.

“Caraya’s soul, that man is...something else.”

Ben looked down at the top of the man’s head and made a noise, looking back to the empty studio.

“Yeah. Yeah, he is.”

Volt made a noise, looking up at Ben. “You know him well?”

“I’m learning, I guess. He’s a lot to figure out.” The smuggler didn’t look down at Volt when he spoke. He watched the glass as though he could still see the general standing there, as though there was an imprint of him still caught there. Finally he took a deep breath. “Is he done? Is there some big meeting afterwards that I shouldn’t sit myself down in?”

“Nothing for a while, we need to mix the sound and the director and cameraman need to get together and cut it up.” He shrugged, sitting back. “I think we have another couple of people coming in, but not for a while.”

“So...should I stick around? Or should I head out?” Ben asked, finishing his cup of caf and setting it down.

“Up to you,” Volt smiled up at him, “I don’t mind the extra company.”

Ben grabbed one of the extra chairs and sat down, as usual stretching his long legs out in front of him. The room was quiet with the busy murmur of the techs starting to go through the footage they had and testing the audio and holo quality. The smuggler was curious about the process, and Volt seemed more than happy to answer his questions. After a while, however, it became apparent that Hux wouldn’t be coming out of the room he’d sequestered himself in with some of the crew who’d prepared him for his shoot. Ben thanked Volt, who reminded him about his card, then headed back to the house.

By the time he’d walked in the door, he’d decided that he’d give the kitchen droid a night off and make something for them to eat. The kitchen was well stocked, and he’d noticed that Hux had appreciated the herb sauce the evening before, so he grilled some meat he found in the refrigeration unit, then made a mess making a dressing for it with herbs and a fragrant oil. He let it all cool as he chopped up some greens from the garden. He didn’t know when the general would be back, so a cold dinner seemed like a good option. He sang loudly to himself while he worked; he was the only one in the house, and even though the kitchen was bright, there were dark corners that drew his eyes away from what he was doing and pulled him down into nothing if he stared too long.

When the food was done, he stood at the back window and looked out into the garden. The sun set early, or at least gave its light up early, and the torn up landscaping looked strange in the fading daylight. He felt hands curl around his shoulders from behind and set his jaw. _Keep looking, boy. You know what you’re looking for, whether you admit it or not._ He refused to turn around, telling himself there was no one there. He heard the sound of something tearing and whipped around quickly, but the room was empty, as he’d known it would be empty.

The video editing and direction took a few hours, and Hux spent a while walking around the campus, speaking with some of the officers and cadets around the main buildings. When he got a notification that the kitchen was in use, he paused in his work and glanced down at his datapad with one eyebrow raised.

He made excuses to his current company and left the main academy, heading toward the mansion. Ben had prepared dinner, and it wasn’t entirely unpleasant. The porch had a pair of heating vents, and Arrik led them out there, sitting on one of the slightly uncomfortable chairs to eat with his plate onto his lap. He even left his datapad on the table as they ate, looking over the destroyed garden with an expression that resembled a smile.

Ben watched his face and then looked out over his handiwork, mouth full. He made a noise as he swallowed; he’d been hungrier than he’d thought, and his plate was nearly empty already.

Hux glanced over and shifted forward, holding out his plate with half the food neatly uneaten on half of the dish.

“Finish mine.”

Ben frowned over at the general’s plate, then looked up to meet his eyes.

“You didn’t like it?” he asked, trying not to take the man’s light appetite personally.

“It was good, I’ve had food throughout the day,” he explained, putting the plate down on the table. Ben reached over with his fork and took some of the meat Hux had left.

“I’m pretty full too...I ate probably half the meat while I was grilling it. I think your droid’s getting a little touchy about me replacing him.” He smiled and sat back, setting his fork down. “So, hotshot galaxy heart throb, how did all your holovids turn out? I headed out before the stripper one.”

Hux rolled his eyes, shaking his head. “They turned out fine. They’ll be distributed in the upcoming weeks. We’re taking a stronger stance against retaliation.”

“Retaliation? From the Republic or planets under your control?” Ben made a noise after he spoke and shook his head. He didn’t want to talk about it now. Hux was back in the uniform he was used to seeing him in, and he didn’t really want to think about the tone of Hux’s voice then. He wanted to just hear him now. “Nevermind. I know, it’s probably classified.”

“Mhmm, good call,” Hux muttered, sitting back and pulling a pack of smokes out of his jacket. He had them in a slim silver case, and he glanced over at Ben as he stood. “You done?”

Ben took a deep breath and set his plate on the low table next to his chair, then looked up at Hux. He smiled a little when he saw the case; in the past, that was exactly the type of thing he’d keep an eye on to pickpocket. Now he held his hand out for one of the cigs, curious about what leaf the general chose when he was home with his fancy silver case at hand.

“Yeah, I’m good. What’re we smoking?” he asked.

Hux gestured towards the ruined garden, taking a couple cigs out of the case and passing one to Ben. “The leaf comes from a nearby planet. They call it heart’s laurel.”

“I don’t think I’ve ever had it,” Ben said, looking down at the rolled cig. “What’s special about it?” He noticed that Hux hadn’t pulled out a lighter, and he assumed he’d be filling in.

“It’s spicy, has kind of a clove flavor,” Hux explained, holding the cigarette in between two fingers as he walked off the porch to the left. No attempt had been made to clean up the unearthed boulders, patch the massive pit, or even restore the plants to order, and Hux was considering keeping it just the way it was.

Ben pushed himself to his feet and followed the other man down into the garden. Up close, it was easy to see the extent of the damage, how the earth had literally been ripped apart. He looked it over with curiosity, as though someone else had done it even though he could remember what it felt like when the huge rocks had come free of the ground with ancient groans.

He caught up with Hux and looked over at him, smiling.

“You want a light there, general?”

Hux made a small gesture, stepping over the remains of a terraced wall and heading toward a jagged boulder. He shifted to find a flat surface and leaned against it, holding his hand out.

“If you don’t mind.”

Ben stepped in front of him to provide a bit of shelter from the night breezes that were already picking up. He brought his hand up between them, the little fire springing up from his fingertips as he held them closer to the end of Hux’s cig.

Leaning in, the general cupped his hand around the flame as he lit his cigarette, took a look drag in before leaning back and looking up at Ben. He nodded once, almost a thank you, and then exhaled upwards. The smuggler stepped back and lit his own cigarette with a practiced gesture, then the flame was gone as he took a deep breath of the smoke into his lungs and held it for a moment before releasing it. He moved to the right side of the general and let his back rest against the huge boulder that was a fixture where there had been a flower bed a few days back. Every time he looked out over it, he was surprised that there was no change to it. The general prized order over all other things, but he let the land behind his house remain like this. In the quiet, Ben took another drag on the cig, catching the spiced flavor Hux had mentioned. He guessed that Hux had made plans to have the space fixed up after he was back on the _Finalizer_. That way he wouldn’t be disturbed by the major construction it would likely take to put the garden back to rights.

“Are you ready?”

Ben looked over at Hux with his eyebrows raised slightly.

“Ready? For what? It’s a little early for bed, don’t you think?”

Hux made a noise, taking another lungful of smoke before glancing over at Ben. “To train with the Knights. Meet Supreme Leader Snoke in person.”

Ben looked down at his cigarette as he shifted position against the rock at his back. Unconsciously he adopted his waiting pose, leaning with one ankle crossed over the other in front ot him. The picture of a man with no concerns.

“Yeah, of course,” he answered finally. “It’s just a six month gig. I could do with the challenge.” He glanced over at Hux. “What’s it like? To believe like that? To have no doubts?”

It took the general a few seconds to process the question. He blinked, looking over at Ben, his eyebrows drawing down.

“Perhaps not as comforting as you’d like to think.”

Ben kept his eyes down on his cigarette, then raised his hand to take a slow drag on it. He didn’t look at the other man, turning his head to blow smoke away from where they were standing.

“Was it ever hard to believe the same thing he did?”

“No.” Hux’s frown deepened. “The Academy was his, but the First Order was bigger than he ever was.”

“The Academy isn’t yours,” Ben commented, still not looking over at the other man as he spoke. “But the First Order is, isn’t it?” That was the moment he wanted to understand, to feel. The moment Arrik stepped out of his father’s shadow and started working to force Brendol’s eclipse in his own.

“They’re both mine,” Hux said quietly, eyes flicking over the ruins. “I give the orders, I make the decisions; I created this, made it into something new, something stronger than the old guard.” His voice carried steel, not anger. The thinking of a man tempered by fire over and over, who looks upon what has been wrought with pride.

“When did you take them?” Ben asked, leaning his head back against the rock and looking up at the dark sky. He felt cut off from the rest of the galaxy on Arkanis; even the stars were hidden behind the heavy shroud of clouds. The smoke from his cigarette curled up beside him.

Hux shrugged. “I don’t know.” His voice was low, quiet and contemplative.

Ben kept his eyes on the shifting clouds above them as he contemplated his next words. He almost lazily raised his hand to take another long drag on the cig, mouth rounded as he exhaled.

“We could find it. You could show me.”

Beside Ben, Hux took another puff, holding it for a few seconds before exhaling, nodding.

“If you’d like,” he murmured, cigarette between his lips again.

“Tonight,” Ben told him, finally looking over to see the other man’s profile outlined by the lights from the house.

Hux shrugged, unfazed by the demand. “Fine.”

Ben stepped away from the rock and moved in front of Hux again, meeting his eyes. Hux shifted to hold his gaze head tilted up.

“I don’t pity you,” Ben said softly. He leaned in until he could feel Hux’s breath moving the hair by his face. “I won’t. Ever.” He could smell the burning leaf, pungent and spicy, and he lowered himself slowly to kneel in front of him. The stone path was cold and hard under his knees, and he looked up to see the faint garden lights illuminating the general’s pale face.

The general’s eyes widened slightly, surprised and pleased. He shifted a little and leaned forward to put a hand in Ben’s hair, pulling his head to the side. He considered Ben from that angle, taking another long drag from his cigarette.

Before exhaling, he leaned down further, his hand sliding from Ben’s hair to his chin, thumb sliding against his lips to open his mouth. Hux tilted his head, blowing smoke slowly into Ben’s mouth, hand against the other man’s jaw, holding him firmly. Ben’s back tightened but he didn’t pull away from Hux’s hand. It wasn’t what he’d expected, but he relished the way the spiced smoke burned his throat. Of course these were the cigs the general kept with him in his silver case. The air was heavy around them with the scent. He closed his mouth on the smoke and held it, then pulled against Hux’s hand in his hair to lean his head back. Throat exposed, he blew the bluish smoke up at the night sky.

Hux didn’t move to stop Ben, both hands on the man’s jaw, his cigarette hanging from two fingers as Ben exhaled. Satisfied, the general shifted, standing up straight and heading towards the mansion.

“Let’s retire,” he said, voice carrying just over the sizzling of the rain caught in the forcefield above them. “I’m sure you have plenty of questions for me.”

It was a strange phrasing, considering they both knew that the information Ben would be getting from Hux would not come in the form of an interview question and answer session. Ben watched the general walking away for a moment, then got to his feet again and followed him at a leisurely pace. There was no reason to rush. The house was waiting for both of them.

When the door closed behind him, Ben was disconcerted by the finality of the sound. He took a deep breath as he heard the rain start to lash at the windows—Arkanis’ nightly deluge. He followed Hux through the house, letting the other man choose the place for them to walk through his past again.

Hux led Ben through the main floor, and then up to the second landing, turning down another wide hallway. They hadn’t visited this part of the building yet, and Hux pushed open his father’s unused office door with no amount of ceremony.

It was an office that held all the drapings of a man stuck in the past. A large Imperial banner, a dark grey desk that resembled marbled concrete, the technology ten years past updates. There was a large couch, a few chairs, and a massive hooked rug that took up the space. Though Brendol Hux had called this room his office, it rivalled a small library in any other homestead, with low bookshelves on two walls and a pair of windows that opened to another small balcony. While the room looked dusted and clean, nothing else seemed to have been moved or renovated. It had remained untouched through the years, even as Arrik’s reach spread through the entire mansion.

Ben recognized it from flow walking with Hux the night before, and it struck him as strange that he should know everything in the room before having ever stepped foot in it before. There was more Imperial memorabilia on the shelves, some of which he couldn’t figure out the significance of and only knew that it must have some due to its location and the distinctive insignia marking it. The room was cold, unheated and unused.It didn’t feel completely empty though. There were three of them in the room, though only two of them were breathing.

“Where do you want to do this?” he asked, walking over to the desk and laying his hand on the surface. He spread his fingers and looked over at Hux.

Looking over the room, Hux shrugged, hands in the pockets of his greatcoat.

“I suppose the couch would be more comfortable,” he mused, glancing around the large room as he pulled off his gloves and heavy coat despite the chill.

Watching him, Ben knew that there was no place in the office that would be comfortable for Arrik Hux. He nodded and walked over to the couch though, then paused. He’d only ever done this kneeling in a meditation pose. He took a deep breath and gestured.

“You sit.”

Hux glanced over at him and then sat down, not arguing with the other man. He set his coat down next to him, folding it neatly, gloves tucked into a pocket. Rather than sitting down next to him, Ben knelt down in front of him, though there was nothing in his posture that matched his genuflection in the garden. He sat back on his feet and took a deep breath, looking up at the general.

“It’s easier for me here,” he explained. “Lets me focus better.”

Hux resisted the urge to make an off-color joke and instead smirked slightly, spreading his legs and getting comfortable against the stiff-backed couch.

Ben rolled his shoulders and looked around. For all the times he’d been somehow on his knees in front of this man, this time was very different.

“Why didn’t you take this room from him?” he asked, looking up at Hux again with intense eyes.

Any ease in Arrik’s expression faded, replaced by a hard indifference.

“It’s a reminder.”

“Show me.” Ben put one hand on Hux’s knee briefly, applying just enough pressure to convince himself the man was here. “Show me what it was when there were just the two of you left in the house.”

Hux swallowed and closed his eyes, taking a deep breath. He rolled his shoulders back and pulled Ben forward, letting Ben into his history again.

He stood with Ben in the library, Arrik, thirteen and not full grown, wearing black as people milled around him. His mother’s wake, he said and didn’t say, a formal affair, more for them than for me. Ben heard her whisper it, from her dusty corners of the house. The dead woman, the way she said the boy’s name. _Arrik._

In the far corner, the doors to the study were closed, Brendol was inside with only a few other officers, accepting their condolences and speaking to them. Next to Ben, the child took a deep breath, watching the professors, officers, some from off-world, come over to the young teenager to shake his hand and offering consolation when Arrik would have none.

After another old man told him of how sweet his mother was, Arrik looked at Ben, eyebrows raised.

“We didn’t speak for two months after this. I barely saw him.”

Ben heard the man’s indifference in the boy’s voice.

“The First Order had become more than a whisper. He believed he could be a great man again,” Ben replied as the knowledge came to him from beyond the closed door behind which Brendol spoke of a new war with his wife’s body barely mourned.

The surprise on Hux’s face was plain, open. He looked back at the door, watching it carefully.

“I was still afraid of him,” his voice sounded young, fragile. “I didn’t mind it.”

Arrik turned, pulling Ben out of the library, out of the mansion, into the seminar seats of the Academy as a dozen, then a hundred lectures and instructions passed by.

“I focused on this. I excelled.” Arrik’s pride was subdued; this was a memory, nothing of real value attached to the words. The young boy took a deep breath and turned again, showing Ben a fencing tournament held in the Academy, two mats laid out on the ground, sharp, crisp tones ringing out as the pairs faced each other.

He took a step forward and there was Arrik, shaking the instructor’s hand, smiling slightly as he was awarded a small medal for top scores.

“The Academy became my family. The First Order, my true father.”

Ben felt almost fixated on that small, proud smile. That was what made Arrik smile. Not jokes, not compliments. The moments when he felt satisfied with himself, the moments when he achieved.

He asked the question, feeling the memory shiver around them even as he watched Arrik step back into the line with his fellow cadets, each one a straight, stern pillar of a new generation.

“And Snoke. He was watching you.” He knew the First Order’s Supreme Leader must have been, must have picked this boy out at a young age for his eventual position. “When did you speak to him? Had you already?” Was Brendol jealous of the attention his son received?

If Hux was surprised by the assumption (question? knowledge?) he didn’t show it. He nodded once and pulled Ben forward again, just over a year after his mother’s death, fifteen and still looking like a child. In front of them was a uniformed cadet, one knee on the ground, looking up at Snoke in a giant holo-chamber that accommodated the sentient’s breadth.

“We spoke first when I was fifteen. I was just starting my last years at the Academy, at the head of my class, with two infantry specializations and an interest in the trooper campus. I had met PH-4574, and was piloting her career; I had met Mitaka two classes behind me, and another man, Joran Barril, the commanding colonel on board the _Vindication_ , a Destroyer currently in the western quadrants, was one year ahead.”

Beside Ben, Arrik swallowed and stepped back, away from the memory.

“My father was less than pleased after my meeting with the Supreme Leader, and I...I thought this would have made him proud.”

Ben felt the tension crawl across his shoulders like the ache of bruises after a fight.

“He was jealous. You paid for it.” He knew these things, knew them as Arrik knew them, knew them as Brendol knew them. The time stream pulled at him, dragging at the Force within him. He let it move him forward, feeling the tug of Hux’s memories and stopping there.

They were standing in this room, in the study, not entirely like it stood in the present, but Brendol stood next to the desk and his son stood at attention in the center of the room, shoulders set, back straight.

“You spoke to him again.” Brendol’s voice snapped like a whip, and Arrik’s jaw tightened.

“Yes, sir. He commended my recent efforts in my classes and has allowed me to pursue more rigorous training for the trooper schools, helping to test and develop new protocols.”

Brendol’s fury was burning, and beside Ben, Hux flinched. He hadn’t realized the feelings had been so furious. Ben was a conduit, giving his present consciousness more insight into the kind of man his father had been, the kind of person who would step forward and slap his son hard, driving the child to the ground. Ben felt the pain in his shoulder, felt it through the body of the boy on the floor, through the memory of the man by his side. Though there was no man by his side. Hux was back in the room, the room with the huge desk with long sharp edges and an Imperial banner that hadn’t seen the sun in thirty years.

Arrik scrambled backwards, not wasting time to cry out or cradle his burning cheek, staring wide-eyed as his father approached again.

“Are you going behind my back, boy?” Brendol’s rage was quiet and intense, a trick his son mastered not long after. “Speaking ill of me, that the Supreme Leader would give a child such allowances!”

The teenager pushed himself up, backing up until his shoulders pressed against the wall of the office. He shook his head back and forth before he managed a ‘no, sir’, which did nothing to ease Brendol’s doubts.

The commandant put a hand against Arrik’s shoulder, pinning him to the wall. The boy’s eyes went wide and he shook his head again, red hair falling into his face as he felt his heart beat fast.

Brendol smacked his son again, this time the signet ring on his little finger breaking open his son’s skin at the jaw and sending a trickle of blood down the collar of his otherwise pristine uniform.

“The truth!”

“I’m not lying!” Arrik gasped, wide eyed, tears threatening to drop. “I haven’t spoken about you! I haven’t!”

Another sharp slap and Brendol threw his son to the ground, taking another step backwards and glaring at the boy. He shook his head, disgusted, and went back to his desk.

“Get out of my sight.”

Arrik didn’t need to be told twice, darting out of the room and running up to his own quarters, where he shut and locked the door. He sank to the ground, back against the door as he curled up, holding his knees to his chest.

Brendol Hux had looked into the future of the resurgent Empire and seen himself rising to reclaim his own past glory. He saw his son as weak, headstrong without the strength to truly assert himself. He was a possession to use or to break as he saw fit.

Ben looked down at the boy, knowing this but knowing his future.

“When?” he asked. “When did this change?”

“I don’t understand,” Arrik said, and it was hard to tell if he was asking himself or speaking to Ben.

“There was a time you stopped being afraid of him. There was a time you didn’t need him anymore.” Ben heard Arrik in front of him and beside him.

Arrik took a deep breath, shifting slightly. He looked up at Ben with wide eyes, tears down his cheeks but no more welling up at the corners of his eyes.

“Not for a long time,” he said honestly, “but after that, I stopped wanting from him. He was no longer someone I looked up to. Any efforts I made were for myself, my ambitions, my direction; not his.”

The teenager stumbled to his feet, pushing his hand across his nose as he took a deep breath, his shoulders steady.

He took Ben’s elbow and turned him around, and Ben faced Arrik’s workbench, which had grown over the years, holopads and computers broken and rearranged, a massive space reserved for his own personal projects. He was fifteen and angry, wearing only a pair of shorts and an undershirt that showed a burn healing along the curve of his shoulder, bruises down his arms. His legs were mottled too, but all the bruises seemed to be more innocent injuries born of training and physical activity than products of his father’s hand or boot.

Ben thought of his own projects, the private places he’d carved out for himself in his mother’s Senate apartment, on his father’s ships. He thought of the spot between the standing stones with the dying tree overhead that he’d considered his private place at the Temple. He thought of the things he’d built over the years, the things he’d taken apart. He understood Arrik on Tyrakos, and on the Falcon when he’d given him back his datapad, how intent he’d been working on programming. School and sports had been his key for the future, but his projects had been his escape in the now.

“I’m overriding the rainfield,” Arrik said from his workstation, and it was apparent that it was the man speaking, “removing the timer, and embedding a virus that will eat any request that comes in through the system to turn the field on manually.” Arrik turned slightly, looking up, and within seconds the rain began to fall down onto the garden and house, drenching the entire building in seconds.

“Small revenge, but it was sweet enough.” Arrik smiled, and turned to another small pad, pulling it closer and hunching over it.

The young boy was next to Ben, and he was bitterly, vindictively pleased as he remembered his father coming home soaking wet, his father getting caught in downpours while touring the back garden, a nice evening dinner outside ruined.

“Even re-installing the entire home’s operating system didn’t work. He replaced the rainfield with a new version, even though the tech told him the hardware was in working order.” Arrik smirked, glancing up at Ben, eyebrows up, mischievous and pleased. “The issue wasn’t fixed for years.” Ben heard the rain pouring down as though each drop was individually striking and he shared the smile with Arrik as though it was a success for both of them. It was a small revenge, but it was a revenge. It was Arrik turning Arkanis against Brendol.

It was Arrik not getting caught.

“This wasn’t the only revenge though, was it?”

“No.” Arrik took a step forward and then turned again, and they were in his father’s rooms, standing in his massive closet, full of uniforms. Arrik crouched down, still in his own cadet’s uniform, and he pulled out a handful of small yellow and white spheres, tucking them into the pockets of jackets and slacks that hung in large garment bags.

“All of his formal parade uniforms.” He stood up, wiping his hands and picking up his pad, already swiping through, erasing any feeds, sending them a loop, learning the intricate details of his house’s code to fool his father’s watchful eye.

“They were dust in weeks, eaten by the dew moth larvae,” Arrik explained, glancing up at Ben. “My mother loved the dew moths.” There were even a few displayed in the library, delicately pinned behind glass.

“Your dad’s probably not a fan.” Ben laughed a little then caught himself. “Wasn’t a fan.” It was easy to feel the reality of the moment he was standing in and lose himself in it. He was determined not to make that mistake this time. He was stronger, he was rested.

“I made sure a few other closets got the same treatments. A linen closet, a guest room,” Arrik shrugged.

“The petty revenges added up,” Ben commented, watching the closet door as he felt the pull of time again, the pull of Hux’s memories as he watched the boy gathering small strengths to himself.

“The more attention I received from Snoke, from my professors, the other officers, the less I was around him. I started going to the dinners he held, I recieved awards, I broke records.” Arrik paused, as if trying to find his words again. “The more I was, the more he hated me.”

Ben felt him increasing, felt the man growing in the boy. He felt the planet growing smaller, unable to contain him.

“But you stayed in his house. Why? What were you waiting for?” he asked curiously.

“It was expected. Every time he hit me after that, I hit back. I knew that he was planning to keep me here after I finished at the Academy, but I was taking care of that.”

He put his hand on Ben’s shoulder and turned him again. This time when he stepped away from the other man and put himself back into his memory, his back pressed against the wall, he was much taller, shoulders filled out, sixteen, nearly seventeen. His spots had disappeared, and the young man was nearly handsome, his freckles stark against his pale skin.

It was the middle of the night, and the mansion was silent, even the rain had ceased. Arrik was silent as he crept along, heading into the second floor office again. He had a small, palm sized piece of tech in his hand and he pressed it against the door’s entry pad, one of the only such locks in the entire building.

Arrik got into the office with no hitches, went in and started rifling through his father’s desk, finding the expensive cigarettes that Brendol kept close at hand. They were ones that Arrik knew well, knew intimately, knew against his skin. Arrik also knew that his father had drunk himself to sleep, that after another year of his son moving past him at a rate far exceeding anyone’s expectations, the dinner had revolved around Arrik’s accomplishments and promise, rather than the plans and incentives that the commandant was preparing.

He took the case of cigarettes and pushed open the windows to the balcony, sitting down and scooting over until the silver bars pressed against his chest, legs hanging over the edge. He took out the first cigarette and the pack of matches kept tucked in the side. The young man put the first smoke in between his lips and lit the match, taking one drag before wincing and taking the cig out of his mouth. He held it in between his fingers as he wrapped his hands around the floor of the balcony, leaning forwards.

Ben stepped forward in the room to watch him, smelling the distinctive leaf burning in the air. He was frowning slightly, not sure what Arrik was planning this time. The young man’s movements were so smooth, so confident; while he was obviously being stealthy, he wasn’t afraid. He had calculated every piece of this plan.

Arrik sat there for several minutes, just watching the garden. He let the cigarette burn out in between his fingers before he glanced down at the stub. Shifting, he leaned back and put the cigarette out on a previous ash mark before throwing the butt into the garden. Methodically, he lit another cigarette, taking another single drag and then letting it burn out in between his fingers.

He put it out, and then lit the third, repeating the process. Arrik continued through the entire case of cigarettes, not smoking any of them, letting each one pass harmlessly through his hands. The balcony reeked of cig after cig, but each one died on its own without being pressed into flesh, without causing fear. Ben stood on the balcony and watched Arrik calmly destroy something of his father’s and he knew that the commandant would never burn Arrik again. Arrik had decided it, and his decision had a inarguable certainty.

Ben took a deep breath, feeling the smoke that had risen in the air years ago filling his lungs that were there and not there. He stood still while he watched him, more patient than he ever was in real time. He counted with satisfaction as the cigarettes burned down to nothing.

After they were all gone, Arrik stood and went back into the office, closing the doors and tucking the case back where it belonged. He retreated, making sure to lock everything, erase all traces of himself, and go back to his own room.

He had one more year at the Academy, and he was already making plans, he had his eyes on an appointment as the commander of his own ship, his own armada. Ben could still smell the burnt out cigarettes as he stood in Arrik’s bedroom, feeling strangely satisfied and proud.

“Yes, you will,” he whispered. “You’ll be unbreakable.”

In some strange way, Hux thought as if he had felt that before, as if he had that sort of conviction when he was just seventeen and pulling petty pranks on his father.

Arrik turned and looked over at Ben again, eyebrows up.

“I left the next year.”

Ben met his eyes; they were pale with triumph.

“But you came back to this house. Before he was dead.” He shook his head slightly. “Why? You could have gone anywhere. The whole galaxy was yours.”

Hux made a noise, shrugging. “I was slated to become commandant of the Academy. I returned to turn down the appointment and tell my father that I had chosen to pursue a martial career rather than an academic one.”

Ben held his hand out again, to the young man, to the general.

“Show me. I want to see the end.”

Arrik swallowed and then nodded. He reached out to take Ben’s hand and he walked with him, pushing the door open. The young man’s hand was cold after his time outside, but the general’s hand was gloved. They walked into the office again, and Arrik stepped forward to meet his father’s gaze.

This was Arrik Hux the young officer, a man of twenty- six, already with the First Order captain’s insignia on his shoulders. He had finally grown into his nose, his mouth no longer seemed childish and pouty, but set in his face properly.

“You’ve received your new appointment, then.” Brendol spoke first, looking over his son appraisingly with no small amount of disgust.

Hux nodded once, not moving from the center of the room. Ben stood just behind him, looking over the room. He noted how the years had left heavy bags under Brendol’s eyes, how his hands had a faint tremor to them now.

“I did,” he said calmly, although he hadn't perfected his mask enough to keep from smirking slightly. “Although I’m afraid I’ll have to disappoint you. I won’t be accepting the post.”

Brendol’s face was wrathful, and he stood, walking to the edge of his desk.

“What do you mean, won’t be accepting?” he hissed, glaring at Arrik. “It’s not a request, boy, it’s an order.”

Arrik’s expression lost any shadow of smugness, and he affected a look of indifference.

“I have been offered another position, commandant.” Hux spoke with the authority of a man who held rank, a man used to being obeyed and listened to. His father no longer made him cower, his raised voice no longer made Arrik flinch or tense. “I will be promoted to major within the next cycle, and I will take up a secondary position on the bridge of the Deliverance.”

Arrik could see his father’s fury, but he was an old man now, entrenched in old ways of thinking, full of nothing but vinegar and spit, and Arrik was not afraid of his rage any longer. Ben felt the warning in the younger man. Try to hit me now.

You’re unbreakable.

“Who said this,” he growled, his fist on the desk. “I gave the order, boy, you are to come to Arkanis and lead the Academy.”

“I will not remain on this planet as a secondary token of your name.” Arrik’s voice was hard; steel and ice. “Your Academy is a tool that I will wield, but I will not stay here just to keep watch over cadets.”

The anger in the room resonated with Ben. It came from both sides; the walls shuddered with it as the tension built and pulsed between them. It was the pressure before a storm.

Brendol walked up to his son, a move that ten years ago would have made Arrik cower. Now the younger man held his ground. The differences between them were blurry and marked at the same time. Arrik was taller and his back was straighter, so much stronger than Brendol, but they wore the same expression, the same ferocity. Arrik’s eyes were ice and his father’s stone.

“You will do as I say,” Brendol said lowly, the threat apparent.

“I will what is best for the First Order,” Arrik responded quickly, chin up.

“You think you know best?” Brendol’s voice rose, his hands shaking. “You know nothing. You are a child; ignorant, arrogant, pretentious.” His voice shook; he was revealing himself the weaker man, and Arrik’s expression slowly turned to one of revulsion.

Ben knew that Brendol saw it then. He saw the man he had created without intending to, the strength he had nurtured while trying to destroy the boy who wasn’t good enough. How could he ignore him now, this straight-backed figure in uniform, this dangerous adder of a man with poison in his words? He knew that the commandant saw his son and for a moment saw the heights Arrik reached for, and how close his fingertips came already. He saw the level of his own excellence, and then saw Arrik outstrip him easily.

“You will stand down, old man,” Arrik’s own tone was a warning, “and make way for the new Order.”

Brendol’s jaw worked over and his shoulders were tense, almost to his ears. The insult burned.

“At least you never had to worry about disappointing me, boy. From the moment of your dirty conception, you have never failed to do that. ”

Something snapped. After all this, after everything Arrik had done, it wasn’t good enough. It would never be good enough. It was endless, and Arrik was tired of the expectation that he had to be good enough for Brendol, that impressing his father was some sort of standard he needed for himself.

If Arrik didn’t need the approval of Brendol Hux, then what good was the man?

Arrik didn’t think about this; it was the impression of years of reflection. In the moment he stepped forward and grabbed hold of Brendol’s lapels, and the look in the man’s eyes when his anger turned to fear was so gorgeous that it almost took Arrik’s breath away. Ben felt himself inhale as though he was outside of himself; his hands were Arrik’s strong hands and Brendol’s fear danced along his nerves.

Arrik was stronger than Brendol, and even though the older man still had his stature, he didn’t have the strength to pull away as his son dragged him across the room, turned his body and kicked out his legs. There was an audible crack as Brendol’s knee fractured under Arrik’s boot, and the commandant’s cry rang through the office.

Arrik pressed the side of his father’s head against the sharp corner of the desk, his gloved hand spread across the man’s face, holding him against the piece of furniture.

“You can’t...” Brendol was breathing hard, face red, pushing at the desk, at Arrik’s leg, trying to get away, but the younger officer held him fast. “You can’t, you’re not-”

“I can do whatever I like.” Arrik’s voice was hushed, sure and chilling. “You are an obstruction to progress, a blight in my vision.”

“You trumped up, deficient, sorry piece of shit!” Brendol’s vitriol was apparent as he continued to struggle against Arrik’s hold. ”You pompous ass, I made you! If it wasn’t for me you’d still be cowering in your room, afraid of the sun; you’d be a sniveling weakling, you should be thanking me!”

Hux’s grip tightened in Brendol’s hair, and he leaned down to speak quietly.

“Thank you, father,” Arrik whispered. Brendol’s eyes flicked over his son’s face, settled on his blue eyes, the only part of Arrik where he couldn’t find himself. “You have made this so easy.”

Ben watched and knew it all, every emotion, every thought, every lie and truth of the moment. He licked his lips.

“Finish it,” Ben whispered.

As Brendol opened his mouth to speak again, Arrik wrenched Brendol back by his hair and then slammed his temple against the corner of the desk. It was brutal, unceremonious, and Brendol went limp after the first blow. Arrik continued, battering Brendol’s head against the sharp corner two more times before he dropped his father’s body onto the floor.

He took a slow step back, just barely breathing hard. He swallowed, looking over his father’s still body, and there was no wave of enormity that crashed over him, no significant feelings either way, just a slow-burning resentment and bitterness

Ben watched him, not bothering to waste more than a look at the commandant’s body on the floor. The sounds of bone crunching against the unyielding desk, the softer noise when the skull gave way-- they echoed in the room. But Ben kept his eyes on the younger man, willing him to turn his head. He wanted to see his expression. He wanted to see the face of a man who had just killed his father.

Arrik still had his hand just above the desk, his jaw set, staring down at the body. He looked calm, but a light flush crept up the back of his neck. He shifted and took a step back from the desk, licking his bottom lip, taking a deep breath.

There was something like revulsion and triumph, a feeling that this was right, that finally something has been done about this. It wasn’t revenge for all the small injustices, it was just the natural order of things. The weak succumb to the strong, the old predator becomes the prey. It was the old story, the oldest story.

He swallowed, the fierceness in his face not abetting. He ignored the body, walking around the desk to take out the slim silver case of cigarettes, lighting one inside the office. Sitting down in the chair, Hux felt satisfied, not particularly pleased or happy, but sated.

Ben watched his measured steps, the way he took his seat behind the desk as though it was a waiting throne. The smoke curled up through the air in a slim swirl, following the air currents in the room. _Are you watching him, boy?_ The house whispered around him, back where his body was, somewhere. _Are you watching? This is what he is. What he always will be._

The smuggler stepped closer to the desk, to the slow spread of blood on the floor. Hux’s face was that of the man on the bridge of the ship he commanded, the man who was master of himself and his world, his army and the galaxy’s future. He’d managed to kill his own past. What could possible stand up before him now?

Arrik took his time with the cigarette, his mind far from the blood seeping into the carpet that he knew he would keep, far from the rainclouds above stormy Arkanis, further even than the unknown regions of the universe, the places he would soon master. From now on he would only think on his father as a hawk considers a mouse, as a child considers the ant underneath his magnifying glass.

The young man stood, face still, and walked around the desk, looking down at the body that was slowly being made into nothing.

Ben wanted a cigarette. He wanted to taste that smoke in his mouth as well. He stepped forward, forgetting that he wasn’t actually there, that these were moments that were gone. He was the one out of time, planting his feet against the stream that was pulling him forward again.

Arrik leaned down taking the almost cashed cigarette from in between his lips and put it out against his father's cheek, pressing the cigarette down hard, until the burning stub seared through into Brendol’s mouth. Arrik dropped the butt of it onto Brendol’s mouth and stood up, not giving his father’s body another glance.

He left the office then, turning off the light and leaving the body there, closing the door softly.

His father would wait.

The dark room spun in around him, and Ben was distantly aware that he was tired, incredibly tired, and needed to come out of the dark before he rested. He came back to himself with an almost convulsive shudder, opening his eyes and taking a sharp breath as if surfacing from deep water. He stared for a minute, pupils blown as he took in the office around him. It looked identical, desk tidied and corpse gone, but otherwise, nothing had changed. It was a silent monument to violence and triumph. He looked up at Hux for a second but couldn’t find his voice yet.

Hux shifted, feeling the pull back into the present, Ben’s hand on his knee, the slight itch of his jacket’s collar under his jaw. He swallowed, watching Ben look around, and he shifted forwards, brushing the back of his knuckles against Ben’s cheekbone for just a second.

The touch brought Ben’s attention back to Hux and he swallowed.

“Where is he?” he asked, voice rough and quiet.

“In the garden,” Hux said, his tone just as soft. “On the left, when you first walk in. I just had some specific flora planted, made sure to use a particular kind of fertilizer, turned off the rainfield.” He shrugged. “I doubt even his bones lasted five years.”

Ben thought of the destroyed ground, thought of his powers churning up the earth, and tried to visualize the spot. Had he dragged remnants of Brendol Hux up out of the garden while pleasing his son?

“No one asked?” There was no judgement, only curiosity. He was finishing the puzzle with a few final pieces.

Arrik shrugged.

“He was reclusive at that point, I sent a few notifications, and he was reported by all technologies as being off-world, visiting another branch of the Academy on board a nearby Destroyer.”

“And he just...disappeared. You eclipsed him completely. The only Hux worth talking about. Worth remembering.” Ben made a noise. “Except here. Here they remember him.”

The officer shrugged. “Barely. Memory is fleeting, and my father’s runs faster each day.” Arrik took a deep breath, shifting a little, leaning back against the stiff couch again. He closed his eyes, running a hand through his hair.

Ben stayed exactly where he was, gaze shifting from Hux’s face to the desk, then slowly around the rest of the room again. The room had not warmed with them in it, and he felt stiff as he rolled his shoulders. He was tired now; he felt heavy as though he’d been doused with sea water. He knelt up slowly, sliding his hands up Arrik’s thighs. The other man noticed and did nothing.

“I don’t pity you,” Ben said quietly, eyes on the man’s face, on the way his eyelashes lay. He stood up, looking down at him before extending a hand. “Come on. You shouldn’t stay in here.”

“Stop saying that and perhaps I’ll believe you,” Hux muttered, taking Ben’s hand and standing up.

The smuggler released Hux’s hand once they were both standing. He let the general take the lead out of the room, feeling a little dizzy as he closed the door behind them when they were standing in the hallway again.

“I’ll see you in the morning then?” he asked, rubbing his hand on his forehead. He felt exhausted, like he could lie down right there on the floor and sleep, but he also felt like there were insects crawling through his veins. It had been so much to see, to experience, to know. He wasn’t afraid of Arrik, but it was a strange responsibility to know him so deeply.

Nodding once, the officer took a step back from Ben, turning to walk through the second floor, upwards to the living quarters.“The cadets have two more free days left. Some are leaving with Balegan on an extended survival technical, a few more are using this time to catch up on disciplines where they might have been lacking.” Hux gestured absently as they reached the third floor, passing Ben’s room. “You’re free to do as you like until your escort arrives. I doubt they will stay long.”

Ben stopped by his door, hand on the doorframe to anchor himself right there.

“What will you be doing?” he asked, forefinger tracing the carved wood.

“Commandant Sage and I are reviewing some of the training modules. I think that my time on Tyrakos has shown that perhaps the ability to blend in might be valuable.” He smirked, shrugging. “We’re considering a new espionage specialization, but that may have to be moved to a different academy.”

Ben actually laughed even though it was late and he was tired and it was vaguely inappropriate. Tyrakos seemed years ago now. How had he even gotten here, in this house, flow walking in the time stream of someone who, by rights, should have been his enemy? His stomach trilled a little with a shot of anxiety and he took a deep breath to still it.

“If you’re teaching that class, I want to sit in the back and watch your costume changes,” he said, looking over to tap the control panel that opened the door. “Just think, some sentient out there is wearing your old uniform and running around thinking they’ve got the inside scoop on espionage.”

“Entertaining,” Hux muttered, smirking slightly. “I’ll leave you to rest.” He took a step back, already heading for his rooms. “Sleep well, Ben.”

Ben nodded to him, watching the straight, lean line of his back as he walked away.  
“Night, Arrik.” The name tasted differently when it was pronounced that way, the correct way. He’d been trying it out in his head since the previous evening when he’d heard the dead woman whispering it in the past, then through the walls when he was sleeping. The longer softer start, the rolled ‘r’s, the gentler click of the end. Arrik.

The officer froze, turning to look over at Ben, his expression confused and messy. He swallowed, blinked and then took a deep breath, getting his sway of emotions in order, under control.

“You heard that.”

Ben nodded once, meeting Hux’s eyes.

“Why don’t you tell everyone they’re saying it wrong?” He paused and reframed his question. His real question. “Why didn’t you tell me?”

Hux was frowning, unsure of how to answer. He swallowed and shook his head.

“It’s just a name.” It seemed a hollow reason, unsure and without much authority. Hux blinked and he seemed to shake himself of the reverie of hearing his name, his name correct, in an accent that was so familiar to his mother’s tongue (his own mother tongue, counted out on fingers and toes as a child, his mind absorbing the words for rain, moth, night, sun). “I didn’t...”

The end of the sentence hung in the air. Didn’t think it was necessary. Important.

“The Basic pronunciation is more common,” he explained, still at a loss. This didn’t seem important compared to the rest of what Ben had seen. Why did the syllabic notes of his name carry so much meaning? “I haven’t corrected anyone in years.”

“You should.” Ben spoke with conviction, though his voice was tired and quiet. “When other people say a name you don’t feel is yours, you let them talk to the construct they have of you. That they make.” He licked his lips. Where in the galaxy was he his own person? Solo, Organa, Skywalker.

Hux frowned, shaking his head.

“Then I suppose it’s a good thing most people call me general.”

“And people call me Ben.” The smuggler smiled crookedly and tossed the other man a lazy salute. “Good night, general.”

The officer didn’t respond, heading to his own rooms, leaving Ben in the hallway.

Ben’s smile dropped as he turned into the guest room, letting the door close silently behind him.


	6. Chapter 6

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> the response to last week's chapter was amazing!!!!!! thank you all so much. wraith and i have realized that we should probably be on the tumblr so we created a separate fanwork blog just for our fan loves. check out [tigernoir.tumblr.com ]() and say hi, ask questions, etc. 
> 
> TONIGHT!!!
> 
> SPECIAL DOUBLE POST!!! why? well the next installment is a two-chapter intermission, and this last chapter is a little shorter, but you know, concludes a lot of important things. The link to the next installment will be on the Corruption series page, and linked at the bottom of this page. 
> 
> Enjoy, and thanks for reading! -tiger&wraith
> 
> t/w:...none, surprisingly.

The next day was easy; Arrik went through his schedule, meeting with Phasma to review the troopers, and then going to meet with Sage to discuss additions to the curriculum. He made appointments to see a few other professors to review curriculum, but otherwise his day was fairly leisurely.

The day even ended mildly, Hux, Phasma, and Ben ate dinner together and then Phasma dismissed herself, heading to the Academy to oversee a midnight technical alongside her Elect. Hux invited Ben outside for a cigarette and they enjoyed a silent smoke while looking at the ruined garden.

Hux, after a few moments, mentioned that he might keep it like this, have the droids rebuild around it. Ben agreed; it was more dynamic.

The next day went by similarly for the general, but it dragged for Ben. A military academy wasn’t his idea of a good time, especially now that he felt the waiting hours dragging. There hadn’t been a single message from the Knights since they’d left the _Finalizer_. The house watched him with hidden eyes when he was alone there during the day, absorbing information from the Clone Wars journal the commandant had collected. He re-read the handwritten one that had the account of the Battle of Parcellus with its account of Roblio Darté.

When he couldn’t handle the house, he headed out into the campus again. He worked through his forms at the gym, but that didn’t take nearly as long as he’d thought and there was no one to spar with him. The hours continued to limp by as he wandered between buildings. Everyone else had something to do. He was just waiting. He hated it and found himself checking the time, willing Hux back to the house. Eventually, he wasted the long stretch until dinner by showering and standing under the hot water until he was overheated and dizzy.

He was still flushed at dinner and was happy to accept Hux’s invitation to follow him outside again. Ben didn’t tend to smoke on his own, but it was companionable with the general by his side.

The past few days were productive, but even Arrik felt the drag of days that were calm and without stress. Walking through the destroyed garden was entertaining, an easy diversion. He pulled out the case and handed Ben a cigarette, taking one out for himself as well.

“Give me a light,” Hux said, turning towards Ben and gesturing slightly with his cigarette. Ben tucked his own cigarette behind his ear, then snapped his fingers as he brought the Force fire up to light the general’s. It was the type of flourish he used to impress, even though he knew it didn’t impress Hux anymore. When the other man inhaled, the air near their faces was full of the familiar scent again.

“Phasma must have seriously worn herself out today,” he commented. “This is the earliest I’ve ever seen her head to bed.”

“Mm,” Hux agreed, taking a step back and inhaling smoke for a few seconds. “Lots of new techs to run. A few members of the Elect are establishing new training systems. She has to be there for them all.”

“I was talking to a few people yesterday. These in-the-know people told me that you design a lot of the simulations yourself. Do you really?” Ben ran his hand along the side of one of the giant rocks that now sat beside the path they were walking.

“I’ve created a few of the intricate technicals for the leadership aptitude tests.” He took another drag. “Many of them are almost unbeatable.” Hux glanced over at Ben, smirking. “Most are based on real situations.”

“I hope someday to be an inspiration for one,” Ben said, laughing a little. The breeze was milder that night, meaning the garden was almost pleasant, outlined as it was by the bit of moonlight that was managing to make it through a break in the clouds.

“You have time yet.” Hux took a deep breath, looking around the garden to find a path through the vines and rotting, upended flowers. Ben followed him, kicking at a loose clod of dirt on the ground.

“Oh, don’t worry. I’m already giving it my full attention. The Ben Solo maneuver. The Ben Solo challenge. The Ben Solo escape. The Ben Solo disaster!” He laughed again as he looked over at Hux. “That’s the one.”

“The disaster, of course,” Hux smirked, glancing over at Ben. “Maybe I’ll put in our recent adventures as a new scenario.”

Ben looked thrilled by the idea. He grinned and clasped his hands behind his back, stepping forward to get in front of the general so he could face him. He had no concerns about walking backwards. What was the point of using the Force if it couldn’t keep you from tripping over things?

“Which part was your favorite? The shootout in the alley? Running for the shuttle? Standing up to Gogo?”

Hux made a noise, eyebrows up. “My favorite part was returning to the _Finalizer_.”

“Oh, you don’t have to say that. Nobody’s around to get insulted. You can play favorites. Real favorites. Was it the jacket? Watching me try to fire your blaster? The drink I ordered for you at the Palace?” Ben leaned closer to Hux, still smiling.

Hux rolled his eyes, taking another drag from his cigarette.

“I was forcibly taken from my post for five days while being put in near-constant mortal danger,” Hux said, although it was clear there was no real fire in his voice.

“So, I’m confused. Was the taking your favorite or the danger?” Ben hooked his thumbs in his belt as he stepped closer to the other man.

Hux tilted his head up, taking another drag and shaking his head. “Ben.” It was almost a warning. He wouldn’t get very far like this.

Ben stepped back, hands up. He was only teasing, and it was still hard to tell when the general would take it and when he wouldn’t.

“So what’s on the schedule for tomorrow? Anything you need my help for?” he asked as he stepped back beside him to start walking again.

“We could go to the shooting range. There’s a structure set up for a long-range sniping technical. We can run a massive scenario, if you’d like to watch. Or join in.” The officer shrugged, taking another long drag of his cigarette and then holding it up, annoyed that he had only a few more inhales left.

“Will I be joining in with a blaster or as the target?” Ben asked. He hadn’t realized how much he missed his routines from the _Finalizer_. Sparring with Phasma, going to the range with the general, his hours logged in the TIE sim pods: he’d more than filled his time while traveling. Now he was here waiting on this water-logged world, and he felt Hux’s desire to get off the planet mixed with his own need.

“Your choice. Although I don’t think that a weapon fired from that distance would provide much of a challenge.”

“If there were a lot of them, it would be a little more,” Ben commented thoughtfully. “But I wouldn’t mind brushing up on my shooting skills. You’re pretty handy with a blaster, but I haven’t seen you shooting down a long range with a sniper rifle before. And it might be nice to see you shooting at something other than me.”

Hux shrugged, finishing his cigarette and throwing it on the ground. “Then we’ll run it. I wouldn’t mind shooting a gun for a few hours.”

“Just please don’t schedule it early in the morning. I know, I know. I waste half the day. But I need it. I need my wasteful sleep.” Ben put his hands in his pockets as they walked. “You know, this is the first time I’ve seen Arkanis’ moons from down here. Must be my lucky night.” He looked up to see the clouds blowing quickly across the sky as the evening winds picked up. Still, the twin moons managed to shine down on the ruined garden.

“In the afternoon then. We’ll give you time to have breakfast.”

“Perfect. Make sure to leave me some good stuff.” Ben grinned over at Hux, knowing he wouldn’t even get a smirk back.

Hux rolled his eyes, glancing around the back gardens as they walked. “Are you ready to head back?”

“Just about. It’s actually not that cold out here tonight.” He paused by one of the giant relocated boulders. “It’s not even raining.” He looked over at Hux. He liked end of the day Hux. He was a little tired and a little softer at the edges.The food and the cig and the hour mellowed him slightly.

The officer nodded, still walking around the garden, going from the ruined section to the part that was still carefully cultivated, beautifully landscaped, flowers and vines spilling over the planters.

“When I leave I will miss the greenery.”

“I’ve never seen inside your berth. Do you have a growing wall, like in the library? I bet you could rig something up. If not, I’m pretty sure I could.” Ben’s hand brushed Hux’s sleeve as they walked.

“I haven’t put one up,” Hux shrugged, stopping to tuck a branch of ivy back into the planter. “I suppose I can afford some small luxuries.”

“Not many people see green as a luxury,” Ben said quietly. He was watching the corner of the general’s mouth when he spoke. It was easy to reach over and put his hand under Hux’s elbow, not actually touching him as he leaned in.

Hux frowned slightly, taking a small step away from Ben, but not pulling his arm away from his grasp. Ben moved his hand up to hold above the other man’s elbow, but he wasn’t gripping at all. It was more resting his fingers against his arm. He tightened his other hand into a fist by his side, pulling it in against his body sharply. The rock they’d turned away from shifted, dragged along the ground a few feet until it was right at Hux’s back.

Ben smiled a little and shrugged, keeping himself close.

“Please?”

Hux heard the rock move, felt it cold against his back, even though his greatcoat. He frowned slightly, watching Ben. He was still unsure about this, why Ben wanted it, why he was asking for it at all. Hux didn’t move or make an attempt to push Ben away. The smuggler felt it was as much permission as he was going to receive. He knew the other man wouldn’t hesitate to hit him, hard, if this was genuinely unwanted.

Ben leaned in slowly toward his original target, the corner of Hux’s lips. He kissed him lightly, then turned him to kiss his mouth fully and taste the smoke and wine there.

Arrik was not a man prone to affection, and he rarely touched anyone without some necessity. Ben...anyone kissing him was unusual and unfamiliar. Ben felt the hesitance with him and while they’d come together so many times with violence, this wasn’t one of those times. He pulled back after a brief touch and smiled more broadly.

“Again?”

The officer was frowning deeply, glancing in between Ben’s eyes and his mouth. He didn’t say anything, knowing that this was not the right way to do this, if there was any at all. Rolling his shoulders slightly, he didn’t respond, didn’t push Ben away, glancing to the side instead. Ben watched him for a silent second, then stepped back. He’d stolen a lot of things in his day, but this wasn’t going to be one of them.

“We should head in,” he said, jerking his thumb toward the house. “It’s bound to start raining out here sooner or later.”

Hux watched him and then nodded once, taking a step away from the boulder. He hadn’t found the action completely repulsive, and it had made him curious. He didn’t look away from Ben as he led him into the house, putting his hand lightly on the small of his back. Ben left the rock where it was, half onto the path, just another disaster in the ruined garden.

The house seemed bright when they walked to the back door. Ben made a noise and squinted against it. Hux was frowning as well, and his shoulders tensed.

“Someone is inside.”

Ben felt stupid for not being able to put words to the sensation he’d had since they got to the door. He’d been distracted, too distracted, by Hux’s hand on his back and by remembering that brief second when he hadn’t held his lips so tightly. He nodded to the general now, taking a slow breath. Like called to like. It wasn’t Phasma come down for a shot of whiskey before bed.

“They’re in your front room,” Ben said quietly. Force users, though maybe not that strong. Nonetheless, rare enough to warrant some consideration, particularly on this planet, in this situation. As they walked, Ben stepped in front of Hux, one hand reaching for the blaster he wasn’t wearing and the other loose by his side. Ready.

Hux glanced at Ben, reading him instantly. He pressed his hand against Ben’s back again, a little harder. “Don’t get jumpy,” he muttered, leaning in. “These are the Knights.“

As they got closer to the mansion, Hux opened the doors for the two of them. He led the way toward the front of the building, hands behind his back. Taking a deep breath, he turned the corner to meet the three Knights standing in his lobby.

Ben had somehow been expected a variant of the ubiquitous stormtroopers he’d gotten used to seeing everywhere the First Order had established power. He wasn’t ready for the tall figures in their dull black helmets, dressed in layers of asymmetrical black. The helmets didn’t match; one had a flat front with a grid incised into the smooth plasteel, another had a long front mouthpiece. The third was featureless and bell-shaped, with long gouges along the side that the owner hadn’t taken the time to buff out. All three of them were still and silent, all three carried heavy weapons with an almost casual threat. All three, Ben could tell, were Force sensitive.

He raised his chin as he inhaled, pulling his shoulders back as he faced them. Helmets. He hated not knowing what someone’s face was doing, where their eyes were going. He felt observed, and judged, and ignored. They made the room smaller with their presence; they exuded power and danger, threatening even here in the general’s home.

Hux was annoyed that he had received no warning at all, that the Knights had just decided to land on Arkanis with no real announcement. Even though he had been telling Ben to expect the Knights at any time, seeing them in his foyer, so dramatically out of place in this situation, frustrated Hux to no end.

One of the Knights inclined his head to Hux, the first movement any of them had made since the two had walked into the room.

“General.” His voice was muffled and amplified by the helmet’s vocoder. Nothing masked the clear shot of superiority that ran through his voice.

Hux nodded once, hands behind his back.

“Takhar Ren,” he said as he nodded slightly, looking over the other two Knights in his stately mansion. He didn’t recognize the other two, but they could have been knights he had been in contact with before. Instead of dwelling on this, Hux stepped to the side and gestured to Ben.

“Ben Organa Solo, whom you will be training for two months.”

The two Knights who hadn’t spoken turned towards one another, just barely. Ben’s eyebrows came down slightly.

“I was told six months,” Ben said as he stepped forward. “Didn’t know I was being put into the accelerated program.”

“I informed General Hux it would be two months,” Takhar Ren said, turning toward Ben. “By then we’ll know if you’ve found your place.”

Ben looked over at Hux, noting the tight line of his mouth. Five minutes ago, he’d felt Arrik’s lips against his, yielding for that single heartbeat. Now it looked like every muscle in Hux’s jaw was tight. He looked back to the Knight, who actually matched him for height.

“Fair enough. When do I get the sweet headgear?” he asked with a wide smile. A rude question was always a good cover for nerves. Now that the Knights were here, the boredom of the past few days seemed to melt away. He wasn’t sure he wanted to go.

Hux’s shoulders were tense, his arms held locked behind his back as he watched the Knights. He took a deep breath and shook his head, glancing at Ben for a second.

“Will you be staying on Arkanis for a time or are you departing immediately?”

“There’s no reason for us to remain on Arkanis,” Takhar Ren said dismissively. “We’ll be leaving with Solo as soon as he’s ready.” He turned his head slightly toward his right, as though he was listening to the Knight behind him on that side whispering though there was no sound. He gestured slightly with two fingers, then looked back to Hux. “Was there anything you required of us while we’re here, general?”

“Nothing,” Hux said, glancing over at Ben. “His things are upstairs. If you don’t mind.” He nodded again, barely a bow, something in between deference and disrespect, and led Ben around the Knights to walk up the stairs. “We will return shortly.”

Ben didn’t look back as they walked, but that took an effort. He leaned close to Hux as they walked up the stairs.

“What a bunch of assholes,” he muttered. Their disdain for him had been evident; they’d exclusively spoken to Hux about him, as though he was a child, as though he hadn’t been there, as though he was someone far below them, taken on as a favor. ”What’s with the outfits?”

“Say it louder, they might not have heard you,” Hux muttered, although there was no edge to his voice and his mouth almost moved upwards towards something resembling a smirk. “The Knights are...unique.”

“Unique, huh?”

“I’m making an attempt to be a gracious host.” Hux’s voice is slightly drawn as they get to the third floor. “They are both outside and inside the Order.”

“Outside and inside assholes, got it.” Ben smiled a little over at Hux to mask what he was really feeling. Nervous. He pushed open the guest room door and walked in. “It’ll literally take me one minute to pack. I don’t have anything.”

Hux stood inside the door, not leaning against the frame, watching Ben pack his things for a few seconds before checking his wrist comm, noting that nobody had sent him as much as a warning regarding Arkanis airspace breach.

Walking over to the bed, Ben picked up his satchel from beside it, setting it on the bed and opening it to make sure everything was inside. Of course it was; he hadn’t really brought anything with him. He looked at the stack of books on the bedside table then back over his shoulder at Hux.

“Is it okay if I borrow this one?” He took the handwritten journal off the top of the stack and held it up. He’d read and re-read it several times while he’d been staying at the mansion, especially the ending. He found odd comfort in the sloppy faded writing. _We know what we did, we did in the spirit of right. We found our strength where we could, and by gods, we fought!_

Hux glanced up and nodded, gesturing to the entire stack. “I keep telling you to take all of them. You’ll be wanting for material soon enough.”

Ben smiled a little and rolled his eyes, but he went through the stack and picked out a few more of the books. Hux took note of them, unsure of why he was so intent on knowing this, knowing everything about Ben before he left.

“I don’t want to just cart your entire library around with me,” he said as he buckled the flap, then walked over to grab his holster and jacket off a chair. Once those were on, he turned slowly in the middle of the room, running his hands through his hair. “Well. That’s it.” Through the open bedroom door, the bed was unmade and waiting. He felt strange to be leaving when he’d already turned his mind to sleep. “Oh.”

Hux frowned slightly, keeping his eyes on the other man. He seemed distracted and tense, and he was slightly unsure of what to say to him, if he wanted to say anything at all. His mind flashed back to the garden, Ben leaning into him.

Ben walked back to the bedside table and pulled one of the books out of the stack, but didn’t put it into the bag he slung over his shoulder. He carried it over to Hux and held it out. “Book six. I left a marker in my place, so if it doesn’t bug you, could you leave it? I can pick up where I left off next time.”

The officer’s frown became even more pronounced as he accepted the novel. He held it lightly, looking down at the faded cover before holding it out to Ben again. “Just take it.”

Ben smiled as he looked down at it, then accepted it back. “Yeah, okay. That’s a relief. I was a little nervous about the captain, stuck in that cage with that sleeping rancor.” Rather than putting it in his bag, he put it into the inner pocket of his jacket. It was a strange weight, an antique weight against his chest. He looked around the room again, taking a deep breath. “That’s all I got. I guess I’m good to go.”

Taking a step back, Hux gestured towards the stairs. “After you.”

Ben walked out into the hallway and down the stairs, unconsciously slowing his pace. The Knights were still waiting in the same place; he couldn’t tell if they’d moved at all. He assumed they’d talked about him. In unflattering terms, he guessed. No, no, he didn’t guess. He knew.

Hux knew that Ben was off put by these men, that they were some other level of being that he hadn’t yet encountered, and he was expected to go with them, train as one of them. He put his hand on Ben’s back , just for a few seconds, not pushing him forward, just steadying him. His hand dropped quickly as he approached the Knights with Ben, taking a half step away from him.

“I trust the Knights will be in contact if the need arises.”

“Of course,” Takhar Ren said dispassionately. “The Supreme Leader takes note of your reports and we have scheduled several missions to root out the source of opposition in several locations you identified.”

As the two of them spoke, Ben turned his head slightly, eyebrows barely furrowed. He turned back to watch the black mask of the Knight to Takhar Ren’s right, expression actually a little amused.

Hux nodded, not noticing Ben next to him. “Will there be any presence on board the _Finalizer_ for those missions? We will be passing through the Eastern Rim, and then along the Bakura Jump Line.”

“As you already have some experience with Zayrâl Ren’s methods, we may call on you for transport if he is dispatched. It will depend on Supreme Leader’s directives. Some of the areas you brought up in your reports likely don’t require the hand of--”

His snide comment was interrupted by the heavy sound of the Knight beside him dropping to the polished floor. The clack of his helmet on the wood was loud in the entryway. The Knight who’d been standing beside him moved quickly to crouch next to him, pulling at his shoulder. Ben snorted and looked down, hand relaxing by his side before he slipped it casually into his pocket. Takhar Ren’s expression was impossible to see, but not impossible to guess as he looked down at his colleague on the ground then back to Ben’s face.

Hux’s eyebrows rose incrementally before he shifted, turning to look over at Ben, not entirely surprised.

“What did you do?”

Ben’s expression was a carefully practiced display of indignant innocence. He looked over at Hux as though shocked he would assume that he’d have done something wrong. Hux’s voice, despite the earnestness of the question, held amusement and approval. Good, Hux thought, so good.

“Me?” Ben asked sweetly, pointing to himself.

“You. What did you do?” Takhar Ren demanded, taking a step closer to Ben. He stopped, not by choice, when Ben raised his hand, palm out. The way he strained against Ben’s invisible hold was apparent, muscles almost trembling as he fought to regain control of his limbs.

Beside Ben, Hux couldn’t help but be thrilled by this. Here was Ben, tested and rising to the occasion magnificently, dramatic and ruthless. Hux may have been a different kind of challenge for the man, but here he was matched against users that would be measured against his power and find themselves wanting.

“Tell your buddies to keep themselves to themselves. Any bits that come over to my side get lopped off.” His voice was mild, word choice oddly friendly. But underneath it all was a warning growl that seemed to radiate from him when he spoke. “Don’t you dare try poking into my head again.” He gestured with his chin to where the other Knight was slowly regaining his feet. “That was my warning shot.”

Hux watched the interaction carefully. He felt a surge of unwarranted pride and satisfaction, perfectly happy to let Ben have his way with the Knights if this is how they would react to the younger man. Anger, worry, fear, all of it tinged the air. Hux was more sure of his decision to let Ben into his past, more sure that his reasoning was sound. He had tied himself to this power, this raw thing that could turn even the Knights to quibbling children without apparent effort. Takhar was still caught in between Ben’s fingers and Hux spoke then, even as the Knight fought against the man next to him.

“Whatever methods the Supreme Leader decides are necessary, I am more than happy to accommodate,” Hux continued, disinterest and indifference returning again to his voice, as if this petty display was underneath him entirely. “Of course my troopers can take care of most of the issues reported, but if the Knights so deign to board my ship, they will find the _Finalizer_ cooperative.”

Ben put his hand back into his jacket pocket and released Takhar Ren, glancing over at Hux as though just calmly following the conversation. The tension in the room had changed; it had shifted away from the Knights as the actual power in the room had been established. They might have been Force sensitive, but all three knew they were nothing compared to the man who yawned as he looked back to them. He still had a cigarette behind his ear.

“We will be in contact, General Hux,” Takhar finally said, voice tight even through the modulator. He gestured and the other two walked past him to the door, one of them flinching, ever so slightly, when he walked past Ben. “The shuttle is waiting.” There was a long moment before he inclined his head to Ben. “We’re ready to depart.”

“Yeah, I’m coming.” Ben watched the men, then followed them to the front door. He paused and looked back at Hux, smiling his half smile. “Don’t get in trouble while I’m gone, okay?”

Hux took a step forward, watching the Knight’s retreating backs with an expression of supreme satisfaction. He nodded once, looking back to Ben. His hands were still clasped behind his back, chin tilted up slightly, almost smirking.

“You do the same.”

“That’s not how I operate. You should know that by now.” Ben laughed and shrugged. “I like to keep my adrenaline level up a little bit.” Hux’s face was turned up to him too perfectly. He was leaving. He could steal something now.

Ben leaned in and kissed Arrik’s smirking mouth, and this time he tasted like self-satisfaction and amusement. He pulled back before he thought the other man would push him back, still smiling.

“See you, sweet cheeks.”

This time, Hux wasn’t entirely surprised, not so sure that this was something he wouldn’t want. He inhaled sharply, but didn’t have to raise a hand before Ben stepped away from him. Hux nodded once, a curt dismissal.

“Soon enough.” The general took a step backwards himself, gesturing to the Knights, who were not waiting for Ben to catch up as they walked to the hangar where their shuttle was housed. Ben laughed again as he walked out the door.

“You always make it sound a little bit like a threat. Keeps me coming back for more.” He waved once, then jogged to catch up to his new group, his own black clothing blending into the darkness as theirs did.

Once he was seated on the shuttle, he pulled the silver cigarette case out of his pocket to toss into the air once before inspecting it closely. He wondered how soon Arrik would notice it was missing. And he wondered if he’d smoke any of the pack Ben had replaced it with in his pocket as they’d kissed. He closed his eyes as the shuttle lifted off the ground, imagining Arrik’s face when the final kick at the very end of the cigs hit him.

Standing by the open door even after Ben was out of sight, Hux wasn’t sure what kind of emotions he had attached to the other man. There was possession and a need to understand Ben, but he wasn’t sure what else. The affection at the end of this time of companionship didn’t change much, but it gave Hux a few ideas, offered him a few new insights into the man who had left Arkanis.

The mansion locked itself, and Hux went up to his bedrooms, changed into loungewear, and went into his reception room to look at the ruined garden once more. He smiled, cold eyes flicking over the power, the destruction rendered there, testaments to the will that he had bent to his own inclinations. He wanted that again, to keep Ben tethered to his side.

His own Knight. It had a ring to it, one that he relished. His fleet, his ship, his Academy, his captain, his Knight.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> CONTINUED, TONIGHT! Read the next part of the Corruption Arc...[Distance]().


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